“Why did Grandma take our dinner if it belonged to us?”

She was four years old.

And she had just asked a question my husband had spent three years avoiding.

I hugged her.

Then I made grilled cheese.

She ate two sandwiches.

I ate half of one.

Diane sat in the living room.

She did not speak.

Forty-seven minutes later, Ethan came home.

PART 2

The front door slammed.

Ethan walked into the kitchen.

His jaw was tight.

His work shirt was untucked.

He looked at the trash bag.

Then at me.

“You really threw it away.”

I almost laughed.

“That’s what you’re still focused on?”

“My mother said you completely lost your mind.”

“Your mother took most of our dinner.”

“She gave food to Rachel.”

“Yes.”

“Her daughter.”

“I know who Rachel is.”

“Then why are you acting like she gave it to strangers?”

I stared at him.

“Because it wasn’t hers to give.”

He rubbed his face.

“Claire, seriously?”

“Yes.”

“I worked twelve hours today.”

“So did I.”

His expression changed.

That part always irritated him.

Ethan hated being reminded that I worked too.

He worked in commercial sales.

I worked as a project director for a construction engineering firm.

My salary was higher.

My bonuses were larger.

That fact had become increasingly uncomfortable for him.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

“No.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t anymore.”

Diane stood near the living room entrance.

“You see how she speaks to you?”

I looked at Ethan.

“Tell your mother to stay out of this conversation.”

“Don’t order me around.”

“I’m not ordering you.”

“You just threatened to throw my mother out.”

“I told her she cannot continue living here while treating my home like her personal storage unit.”

“Our home.”

He emphasized the word.

I looked at him.

“My name is on the deed.”

His expression hardened.

“We are married.”

“Yes.”

“And you think that makes you the owner?”

He blinked.

I saw something flash across his face.

It was quick.

But I noticed it.

“So that’s how you see it?” I asked.

“What?”

“This place.”

He looked away.

“You’re twisting my words.”

“No.”

I pointed toward Diane.

“She just asked who I was to make decisions in your home.”

He said nothing.

“And you didn’t correct her.”

“Because this argument is ridiculous.”

“Then answer one question.”

He sighed.

“What?”

“Do you believe your mother needs my permission before taking things I bought?”

Silence.

Diane folded her arms.

Ethan glanced at her.

Then at me.

“She should probably ask.”

“Probably?”

“Fine.”

He raised both hands.

“She should ask.”

I nodded.

“Good.”

“But throwing away food was childish.”

There it was.

The correction always came back to me.

“So we’re done?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“Your mother needs to move out.”

Diane gasped.

Ethan stared at me.

“No.”

“It has been twenty-one months.”