“I’ll call you later,” I said.
“Grant—”
I ended the call.
Mrs. Pearl remained standing near the door.
“I suppose you’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You’ve hated me all day.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You still think this is about people punishing you.”
“What else would you call it?”
“The bill arriving.”
She left before I could answer.
That night, I searched the house.
Because I needed proof she had really left.
Her closet was half empty.
Not stripped.
Half.
She took practical clothes, shoes, Owen’s things.
She left evening gowns, designer coats, jewelry I gave her.
In the nursery, the crib remained.
The mobile turned slowly when I touched it.
Three small clouds circled a silver moon.
I had assembled the crib two weeks before Owen was born.
Corinne had sat on the floor watching me.
“You put the side panel backward,” she said.
