A Son’s Final Decision

“Mom,” Mark said slowly, voice trembling but resolute, “I want you to leave my house.”

Diane blinked, stunned. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He took out his phone and dialed.
“Yes, I’d like to report property damage. There’s someone in my home refusing to leave,” he said calmly. “Yes… I’m the homeowner.”

The silence that followed was colder than winter.

Minutes later, police lights washed the backyard in red and blue. Officers took statements. They listened. They looked at the wreckage — the broken vase, the scattered gifts, the trembling guests — and approached Diane.

When the handcuffs clicked around her wrists, she didn’t fight. She only stared at her son, eyes full of betrayal — but this time, it wasn’t his. It was hers.