“Come on, Elena. You’re at home all day. What does a housewife need a luxury car for?” Harrison said in a low voice, almost mockingly, as if he were explaining something obvious to a clumsy child.
Caitlyn, my eldest daughter, put her spoon down on the plate while Lucas looked at me silently. I felt a sharp blow to my chest, not of anger, but of clarity.
Tiffany had been living off favors for years, starting with the apartment her mother paid for and moving on to a boutique Harrison helped finance that closed in less than a year. After that, it was credit cards, temporary loans, and midnight calls where Harrison solved her problems with money that wasn’t entirely his.
“Give me back the keys,” I said. Harrison just snorted and told me not to make a big deal out of it.
“I’m not doing anything. Give me back my car keys,” I repeated firmly.
“You’re unbelievable,” Harrison blurted out, before adding, “Seriously, you don’t bring in a salary and yet you act like you’re supporting this house.”
I didn’t answer him. I cleared the table, washed Lucas’s face, and combed Caitlyn’s hair for school with a serenity that even I found strange.