“It is not our problem anymore,” he said.
“He has no money,” I said. “How is he going to eat?”
Richard picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth, his movements slow and deliberate.
“He should have thought about his stomach before he decided to question my expenses,” he said.
I stood frozen by the sink, the hum of the yellow clock filling the kitchen.
“What expenses, Richard?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.
He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes cold and dark, before he stood up and pushed his chair back.
“I do not have to explain my finances to you, Mary,” he said.
He walked out of the kitchen, leaving his half-finished plate on the table.
I walked over to the back door, where the small rug was still damp from the morning dew.
I looked down at the empty space where Ethan’s boots usually sat by the door.
