“You stay lying next to this woman and your whole life is ruined.”
I wrapped the sheet around myself and tried to go get my robe. She stepped in front of the chair where my clothes were.
Under her feet was the bedsheet we’d spent half an afternoon picking out before our wedding.
“Move.” My throat felt tight.
“No.” She said, “Not until you explain something. That hand of yours — where were you touching my son?”
“He’s my husband. I don’t need to report to you about touching him.”
“He’s my son!” Her voice shot up. “I gave birth to him. I raised him. I put the down payment on this house. Not so you could steal him from me!”
The down payment. There it was again. Every time she wanted to push me down, she threw those two words at me.
Two years now. In her mouth, this roof was just an IOU. And I was the extra name written on it.
