could at least carry one suitcase.”
Margaret laughed. “Why? So you can pretend you still belong here?”
That finally made Ethan look at me.
“Claire, please. Don’t start.”
I almost smiled.
He’d used those words for years whenever Margaret insulted me, controlled our finances, entered our bedroom without knocking, or reminded me that I had married “above my station.”
What neither of them knew was that I’d stopped starting fights two years earlier.
Instead, I’d started gathering evidence.
I grabbed my suitcase handle.
Margaret crossed her arms. “And don’t come
