“Emily, tell the police this was a misunderstanding.”
“A locksmith changed my lock.”
“Yes.”
“My belongings were removed.”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t let me inside.”
“I’m asking you to stay somewhere else tonight.”
“Where?”
“You have money. Get a hotel.”
He had waited until I was at work. He had called a locksmith. His mother was inside.
“The problem was never that I made you feel inferior,” I said.
Michael’s face hardened.
“The problem is that I spent so long making sure you didn’t feel inferior that you forgot what I contributed.”
His expression changed.
“I protected your pride when you had nothing to prove to me. I let you call this place ours because I thought we were partners.”
“We are.”
“No.”
“Partners don’t do this.”
Michael turned. Two Chicago police officers stepped into the hallway. Linda immediately pulled my robe tighter around herself. One officer, a woman in her forties, looked from me to the belongings on the floor, then toward Michael standing in the doorway.
