Joyce recovered first.
“Marriage means sharing,” she said.
“You can’t hold money over your husband’s head every time you get emotional.”
I almost admired how quickly she moved from ordering me to cook breakfast to claiming my finances belonged to her son.
“I didn’t bring up money,” I said.
“You did when you told me I’d pay for the dishes.”
Brooke muttered, “This is insane.”
“No,” I said.
“What’s insane is watching your brother hit his wife because you didn’t want reheated chilaquiles.”
Her cheeks flushed.
Hunter stepped closer.
“Enough.”
His voice dropped into the controlled tone I had heard him use only a few times before, usually when a restaurant order was wrong or someone inconvenienced him.
Before that morning, I had mistaken it for confidence.
Now I recognized it as something else.
He needed people to obey.
“You’re coming home with me,” he said.
I looked at him.
“To Oak Ridge?”
“Yes.”
I closed the folder.
“No.”
That single word seemed to stun him more than the overturned table.
Mrs.
Joyce stood.
“You just got married yesterday.”
“And your son hit me today.”
“Couples argue.”
“That wasn’t an argument.”
Hunter reached for my arm.
I stepped back before he could touch me.
His hand stopped in the air.
For the first time, he seemed aware that everyone in the room was watching not me, but him.
I picked up my purse.
“The apartment is in my name.
The credit cards are mine.
And starting today, your family can go back to living on what it actually has.”
Mrs.
Joyce went pale.
That reaction told me more than I wanted to know.
During our engagement, I had noticed charges Hunter explained away as temporary family expenses: groceries for his mother, a repair at the Ironwood house, Brooke’s books, a utility bill.
None of them had seemed large enough to start a fight over.
Hunter always promised he would sort things out later.
I had believed him because I thought we were building a life together.
Now I wondered whether his family had been counting on that life before I ever became part of it.
Hunter opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
I walked to the front door.
Behind me, Mrs.
Joyce finally stopped worrying about the breakfast dishes.
“Hunter, what does she mean about the cards?”
I didn’t wait for the answer.
I left the house and closed the door behind me.
The morning air outside felt cold against my burning cheek.
My hands were shaking so badly that it took me three tries to unlock my car.
Once I sat inside, I stayed there for several seconds without starting the engine.
