She couldn't keep bringing strangers into this house.
She'd agreed to stop, then turned around and invited people over anyway.
My voice and my eyes went colder than they'd ever been.
"My father is staying here tonight."
"And your card-playing friends? Call them right now and tell them not to come."
"Otherwise, you won't like what happens next."
Georgette flinched under my gaze.
But it only took a second for that brazen look to slide right back into place.
"Have you lost your mind?"
"This is my son's house. I'll bring whoever I want here. Who are you to tell me otherwise?"
"Your son's house?"
The sarcasm was practically dripping from my voice.
Back when we first got married, Edgar had begged me to tell everyone the house was his. To save his pride.
I hadn't liked it, but I figured we were husband and wife. It wasn't worth the fight.
After that, the lies he told to protect his ego only multiplied.
The car I bought became his car.
I earned four times his salary and kept the household running. He'd been unemployed for six months, yet somehow told people I depended on him.
His mother believed every word, decided I was worthless, and assumed that no matter how badly she treated me, I'd never leave.
When the worthless one had been her son all along.
"Your son doesn't have a house."
My tone was pure mockery.
"This place was paid for, start to finish, with my—"
"Fern!"
Edgar cut me off, his voice sharp with panic. He grabbed my arm without waiting for a response and dragged me out to the balcony.
His anger hadn't cooled one degree.
"Fern Lambert, are you out of your mind?"
"We agreed on a story. You don't get to change it now."
"If this gets out, how am I supposed to show my face?"
I stared at him. A cold smile carved itself across my lips.
"Show your face?"
"Did you ever once think about how my father shows his?"
Edgar frowned, looking at me like I was being unreasonable.
"What does your father have to do with this?"
"We're talking about me here!"
"Everything!"
My voice nearly cracked from the effort of holding it together.
"Don't forget, he's the one who bought this house for me. He is the owner of this home."
"And today, all he did was use a plate. One plate. And your mother, his peer, and you, his junior, humiliated him to his face. Called him a thief. How do you think that made him feel?"
Edgar's expression went rigid, but not a flicker of guilt crossed it.
He fell back on the same tired script.
"Why do you always think the worst of me? I was just teaching Dad some house rul—"
"Enough."
I raised my hand to cut him off.
"Spare me the noble excuses."
I shot him one last icy look, then turned, one hand bracing my belly, and walked to the bedroom safe to get the property deed.
The color drained from Edgar's face.
He lunged forward and seized my wrist.
"Babe, I was wrong."
"I know today was my fault. I'll apologize. I'll apologize for my mom too."
"Wrong about what, exactly?"
He hadn't expected the question. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing coherent came out.
He didn't think he'd done anything wrong. "I was wrong" was just a tool to keep me in line.
I shoved him aside, gripped the property deed, and headed for the door.
When he realized he couldn't stop me, Edgar dropped to his knees.
"Babe, I mean it. I know I was wrong. You're pregnant. You can't be getting this worked up."
"Besides, your dad's still here. If you make a scene now, he'll be caught in the middle. Think about how awful that'll be for him. Can he really handle that?"
Right as those words left his mouth, I caught sight of my father peering through the crack in the door.
He might as well have had the word "worried" stamped across his forehead.
Something seized in my chest, sharp and sudden, like a fist closing around my heart.
I thought of the guilt already swimming in my father's eyes. In the end, I clenched my jaw and put the property deed back.
