Chapter 8: Grandmother

I walked to the door.

I put my hand over Liam's on the knob.

Then I pushed it shut.

"I'm not leaving," I said.

Liam pulled his hand away.

"You heard your father," I said. "The house is in both our names."

"Until a judge says otherwise, half of it is mine. I'll be in the guest room."

"You can't just," Brian started.

"Call the police," I said. "Tell them your wife won't leave her own house. I'll wait."

He didn't call.

I carried my pillow down the hall to the guest room and locked the door.

I could hear them in the kitchen for an hour.

Brian's voice, low and steady.

Mia crying.

Liam saying, "She's not going to do anything. She never does anything."

I lay on top of the covers and texted Sebastian.

He knows about Danielle. He doesn't know about the laptop.

Sebastian: Good. Don't leave the house. Don't sign anything. Don't touch that laptop again.

At seven the next morning the three of them left together in the truck.

Nobody said goodbye.

At half past three, the doorbell rang.

Patrice stood on the porch in a camel coat, holding a pie.

She walked in without waiting to be asked.

"Brian told me," she said, and set the pie on the hall table. "I came to talk some sense into you."

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