“You can leave today,” I said.
That finally made Darien look up.
“Mom.”
One word. He didn’t sound sorry.
He sounded scared.
Sabine straightened. “Coralie, let’s not be dramatic.”
Let’s not be dramatic?
I looked at Darien and saw the little boy I raised. The boy who lost his father on a slick winter road.
I remembered when he was twelve. Only enough bread for one grilled cheese. I placed it in front of him.
“Aren’t you eating?” he asked.
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
He stared at me, then quietly tore the sandwich in half and pushed one piece across the table. “You’re always hungry.”
That boy noticed when his mother was pretending she didn’t need anything.
That boy would have never let this happen.
But the man on the stairs couldn’t even look at me.
Fifteen days. That was all it had taken to erase a lifetime.
“Where is my bed?”
“In the garage.”
“My photographs?”
“With everything else.”
“My mother’s quilt?”
She sighed. That sigh hurt almost as much as the room.
“Everything is stored safely.”
“Why?”
“Because this makes more sense. We’re a married couple. We need the larger room.”
“You already have a bedroom. The room I gave you.”
“It barely has closet space.”
I almost laughed.
You removed everything from my bedroom because you wanted a larger closet?
“You have more space than you need, Coralie.”
