“Going backward.”
I looked at him.
“Explain.”
He sat on the bench.
“Her parents lost their house when she was a teenager. They moved between rentals for years. She hated never knowing whether they’d have to move again.”
I knew parts of that history.
Vanessa rarely discussed it, but she’d once mentioned the foreclosure during a Thanksgiving dinner.
“She told me when we got married that she never wanted to feel like that again,” Michael continued.
“And you thought my house was the answer.”
He nodded.
“I think I let her believe it was.”
I sat beside him.
“Michael, I understand why losing your job frightened both of you. But your wife’s childhood doesn’t make my home hers.”
“I know.”
“And if you knew she expected to take my bedroom, why didn’t you warn me?”
He stared at his hands.
“Because she said you’d eventually agree.”
“Did you believe her?”
He hesitated.
“I hoped you would.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
He continued.
“I know that sounds awful.”
“It sounds like you were willing to let me be uncomfortable rather than disagree with Vanessa.”
He didn’t argue.
“I hate fighting with her,” he admitted.
“So you’ve been letting me do the fighting for you.”
He looked at me.
I could see how much he disliked hearing it.
But he didn’t deny it.
