“Why are YOU the one leaving? It’s your house,” she said while buttering her toast with forced, angry movements. “When I was your age, Henry would never have asked me to leave our home. Not for anyone.”
“It’s just temporary,” I lied, pushing my eggs around the plate. “Patricia’s going through some things. It’s easier this way.”
“I know, but can we just let it go,” I mumbled, and luckily, Mom nodded.
But a few weekends turned into every single one, and then months had gone by.
Every Friday, I packed my bags, like I was being evicted from my house, the one I bought before I even met Scott.
It wasn’t fair, and according to him, Patricia liked this arrangement, so we had to keep it up. He constantly reassured me that he loved me only and hated that his ex was acting this way.
But we had to go along for Ben’s well-being.
I wanted to understand badly because he always sounded so sincere, and I loved him and his son. But how much more was I supposed to take? I didn’t know when I would break.
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