“You can’t just walk out.”
I looked around my own dining room.
The framed wedding photograph above the fireplace.
Arthur’s hand-carved cabinet.
The familiar curtains I’d sewn when David was a baby.
“You’re right,” I said.
His expression brightened for one brief second.
Then I continued.
“I shouldn’t be the one who has to leave.”
I picked up my handbag and the empty dog bowl.
“But tonight, I’m choosing not to stay anywhere I’m treated like an animal.”
And I walked out of my house.
The rain was colder than I expected.
I stood beneath the front porch light, holding Rusty’s old bowl against my chest, and listened to the sounds of my family carrying on without me.
A chair scraped.
Someone whispered.
Then, incredibly, I heard Brooke laugh.
I had barely reached my car when the front door opened.
Margaret hurried down the steps, holding her coat over her head.
“Helen!”
I turned.
She caught my arm.
“You are not driving anywhere in this condition.”
“I’m going to get Emily.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
I looked back at the house.
“What about the others?”
Margaret’s face hardened.
“They can finish their dinner without us.”
She opened the passenger door and climbed inside.
