“I was seventeen.”
“You were my child.”
“I’m forty-one. And that does not make my marriage yours.”
The hallway went silent.
“This house belongs to Emma and me. Our bedroom belongs to us. Our marriage belongs to us. There are parts of my life that are not yours.”
Grace’s eyes filled with tears.
“I raised you alone. I sacrificed everything. Then some woman comes along and suddenly your own mother is an outsider.”
“You’re not an outsider,” Harold said.
“Clearly I am.”
“You’re a guest.”
“A guest? In my own son’s house?”
“Our house,” I said.
She glared at me.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“You removed my bedroom door, so I think I’m involved.”
Grace grabbed a suitcase.
“You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”
“Good.”
“If you decide to leave because I asked you to respect one boundary, that’s your choice.”
