I called Marcus next. He answered immediately.
“They’re here,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Dad’s at the door. I called the police.”
“I’m leaving work right now. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Do not open that door.”
“I won’t.”
The pounding continued. My father’s voice got louder. “This is ridiculous! You can’t just cut off your parents! We have rights!”
Lily had abandoned her coloring and was pressed against my side. “Mommy, I’m scared.”
“It’s okay, baby. The police are coming to help. Let’s go sit in your room with the door closed until they get here, okay?”
We retreated to her room, and I closed the door, turning on her nightlight and her music box to drown out my father’s shouting.
“Is that Grandpa?” Lily asked, her voice very small.
I couldn’t lie to her. “Yes, sweetie.”
“Why is he yelling?”
“Sometimes grown-ups get confused about things. The police are going to help him understand he needs to leave.”
“Did we do something bad?”
“No, baby. We didn’t do anything bad. Sometimes people make bad choices, and we have to protect ourselves from those choices. That’s what Mommy and Daddy are doing—protecting our family.”
She seemed to accept this, curling up against me while I held her and listened to my father rage on the other side of the apartment.
The police arrived eight minutes later. I heard their voices, heard my father’s tone shift from angry to aggrieved.
“Officers, thank God. My daughter has lost her mind. She’s sent us some crazy legal letter, stolen our car, cut off our phone service—”
“Sir, do you live here?”
“No, but—”
“Has the resident asked you to leave?”
“She won’t even talk to me! I’m her father!”
