“Have you spoken to anyone about my mental health?”
Victoria froze.
Only briefly.
Adrian stood.
“That’s enough.”
I looked up at him.
“Sit down.”
The words surprised all three of us.
Adrian’s face changed.
“Excuse me?”
“Sit.”
Victoria’s voice hardened.
“You will not speak to my son that way.”
I reached beneath the table.
Adrian flinched.
He thought I might have a recorder.
I didn’t.
I was touching the house key clipped inside my pocket.
Grounding myself.
Reminding myself that doors existed.
“I have one question,” I said.
Victoria crossed her arms.
“What?”
“Why do you need to move in before November twenty-eighth?”
The color drained from Adrian’s face.
My birthday.
Victoria did better.
Barely.
“I have no idea what you’re implying.”
“Yes, you do.”
Adrian moved toward me.
“Eleanor, come upstairs.”
“No.”
“Now.”
“No.”
His hand closed around the back of my chair.
