My mother stiffened. “You’re being dramatic.”
Memories flooded in.
Eliza apologizing constantly.
Flinching.
Asking if I’d leave her.
Part 2 of 3
I had missed everything.
“She’s been whispering lies,” my mother snapped. “Girls like her cling. Manipulate.”
I stared at her.
And felt nothing.
“Get out.”
She blinked.
“You heard me.”
“This is my son’s house.”
“No,” I said. “This is my wife’s home.”
Margaret tried one last time.
“If I leave, she’ll spiral.”
That arrogance.
That control.
I walked to the door and opened it.
“Sixty seconds. Or I call the police.”
That did it.
She left.
My mother stayed.
Crying.
“She wasn’t supposed to take it that far,” she whispered.
Not denial.
Not shock.
Just… poor execution.
“What did you tell her to do?”
“Help her adjust.”
“To what?”
“To motherhood.”
I stared at her.
