She stared, stunned.
“Excuse me?”
Emily appeared behind me, barefoot, one hand on her belly.
“Dad, you don’t have to—”
“No, sweetheart. I do.”
Linda protested, “You’re kicking us out? Over a mattress?”
“A mattress?” I repeated. “You lied to a pregnant woman. You humiliated my daughter—my only daughter—in her own father’s home. And you think this is about a mattress?”
She tried to call it a misunderstanding. I told her I’d checked the room and that she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Well, congratulations, Linda. That resentment just cost you your marriage.”
Jesse came downstairs asking, “Mom, what’s going on?”
I answered plainly: they had three days.
Linda cried victimhood.
“After everything I’ve done for you?”
“After everything Emily has survived. Don’t you dare play the victim.”
