“That is exactly the problem.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You would have behaved differently if you knew I was watching.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes, it is. You moved my seventy-year-old mother, who is receiving chemotherapy, out of the room I prepared for her and onto an air mattress in the basement because your brother wanted to watch football. You did it because you thought I would not find out for four days.”
“She was fine.”
“She was not fine.”
“She didn’t complain.”
“Gabriel, my mother has spent seventy years not complaining. She would probably apologize if you put her outside. Her silence does not make what you did acceptable.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m the man of the house.”
There it was again.
“You are my husband,” I said. “You are not the man of the house in the way you mean it. We bought this house together. We both pay for it. We both own it. Being a man does not give you more authority than me.”
