When I married Daniel Mercer, I moved into his family home for practical reasons. He worked from there, and commuting from my house would have added too much time to his day.
It was supposed to be temporary.
A few months.
Then we would decide what came next.
The family home technically belonged to Daniel and his mother, Norma, through his late father’s trust. But in every practical sense, it was Norma’s house. She arranged the furniture, set the dinner schedule, controlled the pantry, and decided how things were done.
At first, she seemed generous. She welcomed me, helped me make space for my things, and showed me how the household worked.
Only later did I understand that her welcome was not simple kindness.
It was orientation.
The soup pot was the first thing that made me pay attention.
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