He looked at me with pure hate. There was the real Bruno. Not the repentant one. Not the confused one. The man who hated that the maid had learned how to lock the door.
“Sarah was right,” he said through gritted teeth. “You are impossible.”
“Then I did her a favor by sending you to her.”
His face fell because my response held no pain. That was what frustrated him most. That I was no longer pleading.
He left with two suitcases. At the door, Mrs. Mireya tried to hug him. He pulled away.
“You put ideas in my head, too,” he barked at her.
The woman went stiff. “Me?”
“Always telling me Laura wasn’t enough!”
I felt like laughing. Now the guilt was looking for a new house to sleep in.
“How nice,” I said. “The mop isn’t even dry and you’re already throwing dirt at each other.”
Bruno looked at me one last time. “You’re going to regret this.”
“No. I was regretful when I thought I had to ask your permission to rest.”
He left. Mrs. Mireya followed him, but before entering the elevator, she turned back. “No decent woman leaves her husband on the street.”
