He stood too fast, nearly knocking his chair back.
“So that’s it? You’re just done with us?”
“No,” I said. “I’m done financing my own mistreatment.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is from where I’m sitting.”
He paced once across the kitchen and back, then stopped by the sink.
“Marissa says you’re overreacting.”
“Of course she does.”
“She says this is emotional and dramatic and—”
“Garrett.”
He looked at me.
“Your wife may use whatever words help her sleep at night. But the next person who gets to tell me whether I am overreacting to being excluded from a house I paid for will be buried next to James.”
He stared at me, astonished.
I almost apologized for the sentence. Old habits die hard.
I didn’t.
After a long moment, he sagged.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
I thought about it.
“Not money-related?” I said.
He nodded.
“I want you to leave.”
His face went blank.
“I need time,” I said. “And so do you. If you want to talk to me again, you may do it when you are ready to discuss our relationship instead of your cash flow.”
He looked like he wanted to argue. Then maybe he saw something in my face he had not seen before.
He picked up his keys.
At the door he stopped.