I let Linda host a party in my blouse and paraded her guests through our home like it was a museum. After she used up my husband’s cologne, bent his tie pins, and scratched his car, I decided enough was enough. My husband, Daniel, finally drove her back to her apartment, but not before I made sure she felt the consequences of crossing the line.

She left bewildered, thinking she was the one in control. Meanwhile, I reclaimed my peace, soaking in my tub, letting the house finally whisper, “Welcome home.”