Two days later, the doorbell rang. It wasn’t a mover—it was a young couple holding a folder of paperwork and a set of keys. Behind them, a moving truck was already backing into the driveway.
My in-laws looked confused. “Can we help you?” my mother-in-law barked, blocking the doorway.
My dad walked up behind her, suitcase in hand, wearing his best suit and a smile sharper than I’d seen in years. “Let them in, Martha,” he said cheerfully. “Meet the new owners.”
The blood drained from my in-laws’ faces. “New… owners?”
“You were absolutely right!” Dad chirped. “I didn’t need this whole house. So, while you were busy ‘helping’ me pack, I called my realtor. Sold it for cash, quick close, as-is.”
He patted his chest pocket. “I took the money and booked myself a permanent suite at that ‘nursing home’ you mentioned. Except it’s actually a luxury retirement resort in Cabo. All-inclusive, beach views, and best of all—no guests allowed.”
He stepped past them and hopped into the waiting taxi at the curb. “Oh, and since you guys are so good at packing, you should be all set! The new owners take possession in ten minutes. You might want to get your stuff off their porch.”
He waved as the car pulled away, leaving them standing on the lawn with their mouths open and nowhere to go.
Would you like me to generate a different type of ending, such as one where the narrator intervenes instead?
