Diane didn’t give him the chance. She squeezed the back of his hand.
“Son, Mama’s not here to fight. I just can’t stand watching this. Come stay with me for a couple days. Clear your head. Okay?”
His mouth opened. Then it closed.
I went cold all over. In my own house. In my own bed. She’d ripped the covers off me and left me sitting there in the light in nothing but my nightgown — and my husband couldn’t even manage one “don’t treat my wife like that.”
I let go of the sheet and stepped onto the floor barefoot. I stood between her and the bed.
Diane pulled back half a step, like she thought I was about to lunge at her.
I didn’t touch her. I stood up straight and said it one word at a time:
“Diane, even if you did pay that down payment, you have no right to bust into our bedroom at two in the morning to see your son without his clothes on. You’re his mother. When you should look away, you look away.”
