His smile disappeared.
Ryan dropped the folding cot on the floor and stumbled back a step. He laughed. She didn’t.
“Mom, what the hell?”
“From tonight, you sleep on this in the hallway. Emma takes the bed,” my MIL said with finality.
“You can’t do this!”
“Oh, I can,” she said, as calm as Sunday morning. “Tell your wife who really pays the rent, Ryan.”
His face turned pale. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“You can’t do this!”
Dana turned to me, her expression gentle.
“Every month for two years, honey, I’ve wired the money that covers most of this apartment’s rent. Ryan’s paycheck never stretches that far. He just never told you.”
I felt the floor tilt a little, but in a good way.
“You can’t be serious,” my husband said.
“The second she sleeps in that car again, the transfers stop,” Dana said. “Try paying the rent on your own next month. See how it fits.”
