The old reflex rose instantly inside me.
Explain.
Apologize.
Tell her I bought groceries.
Tell her I had cleaned the kitchen that morning.
Tell her my freelance work had covered Noah’s expenses and the SUV payment while Ethan searched for work.
Dad looked back at me.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
For once, I let Diane’s accusation sit there without scrambling to make it comfortable.
Then I said, “You took transportation away from me while I was caring for your grandson.”
Diane rolled her eyes.
“It was a walk to the grocery store, Camila.
Don’t turn it into a tragedy.”
“My ankle is injured.”
“Then you should have planned better.”
Something changed in Ethan’s face.
Maybe hearing it in the driveway was different from hearing it inside his mother’s kitchen.
Maybe seeing my swollen ankle made it harder to pretend the problem was merely two women who didn’t get along.
He stepped off the porch.
“Mom, give her the key.”
Diane turned toward him sharply.
“Excuse me?”
“Give Camila the key.”
“Ethan, don’t embarrass yourself because her father decided to show up and play hero.”
Dad lowered his hand.
“I’m not here to play anything.”
She looked him up and down—plain polo, jeans, ordinary shoes—and clearly decided he was just another relative she could dismiss.
“Then perhaps you should take your daughter home with you if we’re so terrible.”
The threat landed exactly the way she intended.
For months, those words had controlled me.
Where would we go?
Could we afford another apartment?
What would Ethan do?
How would I manage Noah while working and trying to save money?
Diane knew every one of those questions.
That was why she smiled after she said it.
Dad looked at me.
“Do you want to leave tonight?”
My breath caught.
Diane laughed again, but there was less confidence in it now.
“Michael, don’t encourage her to make some dramatic decision she can’t afford.”
Dad’s eyes moved to Diane.
It was the first time she had used his name.
She knew him only as Michael Carter, my father.
We’d never been a family that built conversations around rank.
Dad didn’t wear his career into restaurants, holidays or family dinners.
When he visited me, he was simply Dad.
Diane had never cared enough to ask much beyond that.
I looked through the back window at Noah.
He was watching the adults with the solemn expression babies get when they know the room feels wrong even though they don’t understand why.
Then I looked at Ethan.
He had spent six months promising me that moving in with his parents was temporary.
Somewhere along the way, temporary had become permission.
“Yes,” I said.
The word surprised even me.
