Jen’s husband, David, and his mom, Margaret, took off to Dubai with cash from Jennifer’s wallet, leaving her stuck at home with the kids

Jennifer sat on the edge of a sagging couch, sorting through old photographs. The apartment smelled of medicine and age, a scent that seemed to have seeped into the walls over the long years of her grandmother’s life. Elizabeth Ann passed away quietly in her sleep, leaving behind a two-bedroom apartment in a brick five-story building, outdated furniture, and boxes of black-and-white photos.

“Mom, look, who’s this?” Six-year-old Emily handed over a yellowed snapshot. Jennifer glanced at the photo and smiled. A young Elizabeth in a white dress with a lace collar stood next to a tall man in a military uniform.

“That’s your great-grandma Elizabeth and great-grandpa Michael. See what a beautiful couple they were.” She ran her finger along the edge of the photo.

It was wartime, and they married just a day before he was sent to the front. “Why didn’t we take these photos home earlier?” Emily frowned, examining other pictures. “Well…” Jennifer hesitated. Her grandmother didn’t get along well with her father’s mother, so she kept everything here.

That was putting it mildly. Elizabeth Ann and Margaret Louise, her mother-in-law, couldn’t stand each other. Two women, two strong personalities, too stubborn to compromise.

Elizabeth called Margaret a “snob with airs,” while Margaret retorted with a disdainful “hick.” Jennifer sighed. Her heart felt heavy and empty.

Her grandmother was gone, leaving her with this apartment and the freedom to decide what to do with it. “Don’t sell it right away, Jenny,” Elizabeth had said a month before her death. “An apartment is a foundation under your feet.

You never know when you’ll need it.” “Mom, are we going to live here?” Emily tugged at her sleeve, pulling her from her thoughts. “Not now, sweetie,” Jennifer kissed her daughter’s forehead.

“We have our own house, and you and Tommy are more comfortable there.” Emily nodded and returned to the box of photos. Jennifer looked out the window.

The courtyard was quiet, with a playground and old oak trees. The neighborhood wasn’t the fanciest, but it was cozy, with good amenities. A school and clinic were nearby, and the subway was a 15-minute walk.

Her phone rang. Her husband’s name flashed on the screen. “Hey, David,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You guys almost done?” Mom made dinner, it’s getting cold. “Another half hour, we need to sort some stuff.” “Alright,” his voice carried impatience.

“Just don’t take too long, Mom will be upset.” Jennifer rolled her eyes. Margaret Louise and her perpetually cooling dinners.

The call with her husband soured her mood. She surveyed the apartment. Peeling wallpaper, creaky hardwood floors, mid-century furniture.

But there was something real here. No one whispered to avoid waking poor Margaret, who had another migraine. No need to endure comments about how she raised her kids wrong, cooked soup wrong, or folded towels wrong.

“Emily, let’s go, it’s time,” she said, tucking the photos back into the box. On the drive home, Jennifer couldn’t stop thinking about the apartment. She mentally calculated repair costs, which furniture could stay, and which needed replacing.

Maybe rent it out for a while? Extra income wouldn’t hurt, especially with their mortgage and Tommy’s rising medical bills. Tommy, her youngest, was born with a heart defect that required constant monitoring and periodic treatments. Three years old, and already two surgeries behind him, with more to come.

Jennifer gripped the steering wheel tighter. Money. The eternal question that gave her headaches.

David earned decently, but expenses were steep. The mortgage ate up nearly half their combined income, and when Tommy’s medical costs piled on, things got tight. She turned onto their street and saw their familiar high-rise.

Twelfth floor, a one-bedroom converted into a two-bedroom by shrinking the kitchen, their family nest, bought with a mortgage five years ago. For the past two years, it had also housed Margaret Louise, who, after selling her own place, decided to temporarily move in with her son and daughter-in-law. Finally home! Margaret met them in the hallway, pointedly glancing at the wall clock.

“I was about to throw out dinner.” “Hello, Margaret!” Jennifer flashed her most neutral smile. “Sorry for the delay, we had to sort some things.”

“Grandma!” Emily rushed to hug her. “We were looking at old photos. Great-grandma was so pretty.”

“Yes, yes, dear,” Margaret absently patted her granddaughter’s head. “Go wash your hands, dinner’s getting cold.” David was already at the table, Tommy waiting too.

Jennifer walked to the kitchen. Tiny, barely 60 square feet, it felt even smaller with the abundance of appliances Margaret had brought. “Jenny, you don’t mind if I keep my microwave? It’s newer.

And my Instant Pot? It has more settings.” Every inch of counter space was occupied. David sat at the table, glued to his phone.

Nearby, in his high chair, Tommy enthusiastically smeared oatmeal across the tray. “Hey,” Jennifer kissed her husband’s cheek. “How was your day?” “Fine,” he didn’t look up.

“You were gone a while.” “I told you, we had to…” “Yeah, yeah,” David waved her off.

“Mom was alone with Tommy all evening.” Jennifer pressed her lips together but stayed silent. She didn’t want to start a fight in front of the kids.

“So, did you figure out your grandma’s estate?” Margaret brought a pot of pot roast to the table. “Not quite,” Jennifer helped Emily settle in. “There’s still a lot to do.”

“And what’s your plan for the apartment?” Margaret set a plate in front of David. “Haven’t decided yet. Maybe rent it out.”

“Rent it?” Margaret raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why? Just sell it, money’s always useful.” “I don’t want to sell,” Jennifer said firmly…