My son sent me to a hotel for his in-laws — one hour later, they begged for a divorce

Right in the middle of my vacation, my son texted me, "We know this is your beach house, but we want some alone time with my wife's parents, so please move to a hotel." I replied, "Understood." And then I made my final move. What happened an hour later made my in-laws beg my son to divorce their daughter.
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The midday sun in the low country doesn't just warm you, it melts you, it burns away everything superfluous, leaving only the essence. scorching stone, the scent of dry Spanish moss, and the deafening ring of cicas that makes your temples throb by evening.
But here, on the terrace of Indigo Point, the heat felt different. The air was heavy, not from the humidity, but from the icy silence that hung over the dining table. I stood at the kitchen island with my back to my guests, slicing a juicy, sugarsweet watermelon.
The knife slid into the flesh with a soft crunch. This was my kitchen. I had drafted this blueprint myself 20 years ago. I knew why the window faced exactly southwest to catch the sunset rays without letting in the brutal midday heat. I remembered choosing these Italian tiles the color of baked milk, arguing with the contractor about the height of the countertops. Every inch of this house was an extension of me, my will, my labor. But today I felt like a ghost here, a disembodied spirit whose only task was to serve, clean, and disappear. At the large table on the terrace, under the shade of a pergola draped in wisteria, sat the masters of life. My son Sterling had his face buried in his plate, diligently avoiding my gaze. His shoulders were slumped. And in that posture, I saw the little boy who used to hide behind my skirt after breaking a neighbor's window. Only now he wasn't hiding behind me. He was hiding from me. Opposite him sat Thaddius and Zenobia Vance, my daughter-in-law's parents. They were eating the red snapper I had prepared with expressions that suggested they were doing the fish a favor by allowing it to be eaten. Zenobia, a heavy set woman dripping in massive gold jewelry that looked ridiculous against the backdrop of a casual beach lunch, dabbed her lips with a napkin and pushed her plate away with disdain. "The fish is a little dry," she announced loudly, addressing no one in particular.