“That’s right, Jeremy is a good son who knows I need my peace, and frankly, those diapers smell and I won’t have them in a clean house,” Henrietta barked.
I stood on the landing, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “This apartment is in my name, and I am not asking for permission to enter my own home,” I stated firmly.
Jeremy’s face darkened as he told me not to go waving papers around. “I’m your husband, and what happens in this family stays in this family,” he threatened.
I looked into his eyes and remembered the scent of unfamiliar perfume on his collars and the late-night hushed calls on the balcony. I realized then that I hadn’t been paranoid; I had simply been too kind to myself.
“I’m holding your grandson, Henrietta, and I just need to lie down in my own bed,” I said, trying one last time for a spark of humanity.
Henrietta scoffed and asked if I thought the walls were soundproof. “Go back to your own people and take that hospital infection with you,” she sneered.
Jeremy nodded in agreement and told me he might stop by my parents’ place over the weekend if he found the time. “Tell your mother to set a decent table for me,” he added.