Track Pregnancy
The shouting finally reached him. He appeared in the doorway in his silk pajamas, looked at what remained of my hair, and calmly lifted the clippers out of his mother’s hand — as though the actual problem in that room was where she had set them down.
Study Anatomy
“Say something,” I managed. “Your mother attacked me. In my sleep.”
Ethan sighed, the exact sigh he used when a waiter got an order wrong. Not alarm. Irritation.“Mom went too far. But be honest, Vanessa — you pushed her to this.”
I stared at him, waiting for the rest of the sentence, the part where he came to his senses. It never arrived. Instead he told me I came home too late, that I barely cooked anymore, that I cared more about the company than my own family. As if a woman waking up with clumps of her own hair on her pillow was a scheduling complaint.
