“Listen to her,” Patricia said, smiling at me like I was a child having a tantrum. “You’ll have to pay. Ethan is my son. A good wife supports her husband’s mother.”
The words hit me like a slap. Not because I hadn’t heard versions of them before, but because something inside me finally…shifted. I had been trying to reason with people who didn’t even see me as human.
I placed my purse down, walked past them, and went to the small desk in the corner where I kept our paperwork—bills, insurance letters, the mortgage statements Ethan never bothered opening. My hands were steady. That surprised me more than anything.
Inside the drawer was a folder I had prepared the week I discovered he’d used my credit card to fund his so-called “business idea” with his friends—the one that turned out to be nothing more than poker nights and sports bets.
I walked back into the living room and dropped the papers onto Ethan’s lap.
He frowned as he flipped through the first page. “What is this?”
“Divorce papers,” I said. “Since you’re so sure this is your house, let’s make it official.”
Patricia’s laughter vanished instantly. Ethan’s face drained of color so quickly it looked like someone had pulled a plug.