I felt my stomach tighten.
Michael said nothing.
Vanessa continued.
“You said it was basically part of our future.”
I turned toward my son.
“Michael?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Mom, Dad used to say that someday I’d inherit the place.”
“Your father said many things when he was alive.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell Vanessa that made the house yours now?”
“No.”
Vanessa gave a sharp laugh.
“You said we’d never have to worry about housing because the house would eventually be ours!”
Michael looked toward the floor.
I recognized that look.
I’d seen it at James’s anniversary celebration.
At holiday dinners.
During every argument when Vanessa expected him to agree with her.
This time, I didn’t allow him to disappear.
“Michael, look at me.”
He slowly raised his head.
“Did you tell your wife she could make decisions about my home because you expect to inherit it?”
He swallowed.
“Not exactly.”
“Then explain exactly what you said.”
He hesitated.
Finally, he answered.
“I told her you’d always said the house would stay in the family. I thought we’d be able to live here until I found work, and maybe later we’d figure something out.”
“Figure out what?”
