Chapter 3 - The Guest Room Key
Brooke lunged for the paper. Ethan moved it out of reach.
"You set me up," she snapped. "You've hated me since the day I moved in."
"You moved in for two weeks," I said. "That was four months ago."
I'd convinced Ethan to let her use the guest room after she'd lost her apartment. She had arrived with two trash bags of clothes and a story about an unfair landlord. Every week there was another emergency: a broken car, an old medical bill, a boss who hadn't paid her. I'd kept handing over small amounts because Mom had trained us to call that love.
Nora folded the document. "I need to take this back. A flagged request is not proof that Brooke submitted it. The credit union will investigate. For now, freeze your credentials."
Brooke looked almost relieved. "See? You have nothing."
"I have a pregnant wife who is afraid to sit in her own home," Ethan said. "And I have a sneaker on the floor that you threw at her. You need to leave."
"I'm not going anywhere until Mom gets here."
"Then we'll call the police for help keeping things peaceful," he replied.
My sister's eyes swung to me. "Tell him. Tell him this is my home too."
I remembered lending her my spare key. Remembered the sound of her laughing on calls late at night and shutting the guest-room door when I approached.
"It was a place you could be safe," I said. "You made it a place where I don't feel safe."
She pulled the key off her ring and threw it at my feet. I flinched. Ethan didn't move, but his jaw clenched.
She left with her purse, not her bags. The front door slammed so hard a family photograph tilted on the mantel.
I looked at the guest-room door and remembered painting it while pregnant, telling Brooke she could choose the curtains. It wasn't generosity that I regretted. I still believed people deserved shelter when life became difficult. What I regretted was treating every violation as a misunderstanding, even after the misunderstandings developed a pattern. Ethan asked whether I wanted the room locked. I said I wanted the room to belong to our baby when she was older, to books and stuffed animals and friends who came because they were welcome.
The tightening in my stomach returned. I pressed my palm against it and tried to count my breaths.
May you like
"Mara?" Ethan whispered.
I looked down. A damp patch was spreading across my leggings.
