I picked it up.
“I’ll return it.”
“Good.”
We ate in silence for a while.
Then Mom asked, “Are you going home tonight?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t think I can.”
She nodded.
“Your room is ready.”
“Mom, I’m forty years old.”
“And I still have clean sheets.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then I told her about Rachel.
The emails.
The proposed marital agreement.
The questions about the family trust.
Mom listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she went to the sink and rinsed her glass.
“I knew Ashley was interested in the trust,” she said.
I looked up.
“You did?”
“She asked me to add her as a beneficiary after the engagement.”
I stared at her.
“What did you say?”
“That the trust was part of our family’s long-term planning and wasn’t something I would change simply because someone was getting married.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mom turned.
“Because I told her no, and I expected that to be the end of it.”
I thought about Ashley’s list of grievances that morning.
The house.
