“If it were just words before, fine, but now you’ve taken it to a lawyer? Ethan Brooks, do you ever stop?”
Claire’s tone carried clear impatience.
“Once we’re divorced, you can bring home whoever you want to sleep over.”
With that, I hung up the phone.
The ringtone kept buzzing.
When I still refused to answer, Claire sent me a string of messages:
“At worst, I’ll have him move into the downstairs guest room. That should be fine, right?”
“Ryan’s illness is so severe now. The doctor said he could attempt suicide at any time. Do you really have to throw a tantrum at such a critical moment?”
Message after message came in—at first trying to soothe me, later turning into irritation and impatience.
“Ethan, can’t you stop being so petty? I’ve already compromised for you. What more do you want?”
A compromise?
Having Ryan stay in the guest room is a compromise, but letting him sleep in our marital bed while I’m away is supposed to be acceptable?
I sneered. Just then another message came in:
“Ethan, you’re nothing but the Brooks family’s live-in son-in-law. Without me, you’re nothing. Even your tantrums should have limits.”
Reading that last message, I let out a hollow laugh.