“It was in the closet.”
I laughed once.
The sound frightened even me.
I turned back to Ethan.
“What else changed?”
“Laura—”
“What else?”
He looked toward the kitchen.
That was enough.
I walked past them.
The kitchen cabinets had been reorganized. My cast-iron pan was gone from the stove rack. A calendar on the refrigerator listed Diane’s appointments, Megan’s shifts, Ethan’s work meetings, and something called household contribution due beside my name.
Nine hundred dollars.
Again.
I pointed to it.
“You put this on the refrigerator?”
Ethan looked miserable.
“I didn’t.”
Diane answered. “Everyone contributes.”
“Whose mortgage payment comes out of the account?”
Nobody spoke.
“Whose name is on the deed?”
Diane’s lips thinned.
“This is not about technical ownership.”
I stared at her.
“It is literally my house.”
Ethan stepped between us.
“Can we sit down?”
“No.”
I was too tired to sit in a room someone else had rearranged and pretend we were negotiating equal claims.
I pointed toward the living room.
