Chapter 7 - His House
Eric came home forty minutes later.
He didn’t close the front door quietly.
It slammed so hard the framed photograph beside it shifted.
Diane entered behind him.
Madison followed.
“You sold our house?” Eric shouted.
I stood in the living room.
“My house.”
Diane pointed at me.
“Don’t start with that garbage.”
“It’s not garbage.”
Eric marched toward me.
“You made a financial decision this big without talking to your husband?”
I almost laughed.
“You moved two adults into my house without talking to your wife.”
“That is completely different.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re family!”
“And I’m what?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
I nodded.
“Exactly.”
Diane stepped closer.
“You cannot sell a marital home without Eric’s consent.”
“My attorney disagrees.”
“Your attorney?”
“Yes.”
Eric stared at me.
“You planned this.”
“After dinner.”
His expression changed.
The memory arrived.
Watch your mouth.
“You’re doing this because I yelled at you?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because yelling at me made me finally understand that you believe I’m beneath you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
I looked at Madison.
“Tell him what you told me.”
Her face tightened.
Eric turned.
“What did you tell her?”
Madison shook her head.
“Nothing.”
I looked at Eric.
“Your sister says you told your family that you financially carry this household.”
Diane interrupted.
“He does.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
Eric went pale.
Diane looked offended.
“What’s funny?”
“Eric.”
“Claire.”
“No. Let’s do this.”
I went to my office.
When I returned, I carried a folder.
Three tax returns.
I placed them on the coffee table.
“Last year.”
Eric’s face tightened.
I pointed.
“My income.”
Then his.
Diane looked down.
The room became very quiet.
Madison leaned forward.
“Wait.”
Nobody spoke.
She looked at Eric.
“She makes that much?”
Eric snapped, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it matters,” I said.
Diane grabbed the papers.
“These could mean anything.”
“They mean I earn almost twice what your son earns.”
Her face reddened.
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t support you.”
“The house was paid off before our wedding.”
Madison stared at Eric.
“You told Mom you paid the mortgage.”
Eric stood frozen.
Diane looked at him.
“Eric?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I said I contributed.”
“No,” Madison said. “You said Claire couldn’t keep this house without you.”
“Jesus, Madison.”
I felt strangely calm.
Eric had not only let his family disrespect me.
He had fed the story that justified it.
“How long?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“How long have you been telling them that?”
“I wasn’t—”
“How long?”
His silence answered.
Diane threw the tax return onto the table.
“This isn’t about money.”
“No,” I said. “It’s about entitlement.”
She pointed upstairs.
“My daughter is weeks away from giving birth!”
“Then help her find somewhere stable.”
“This is stable!”
“No. It’s sold.”
Eric suddenly looked toward me.
“What’s the closing date?”
I didn’t answer.
“Claire.”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
Diane’s voice rose.
“You have to cancel it.”
“No.”
Eric stepped closer.
“Cancel the sale.”
“No.”
“I’m your husband.”
I stared at him.
“That stopped meaning what you think it means the night you decided being my husband gave you authority over me.”
His phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Then his face changed.
“What?” I asked.
He answered.
Listened.
His eyes moved toward me.
Then toward the street.
May you like
He hung up.
“Why is there a moving company outside?”
