When my phone rang again, I picked up mostly because I wanted to hear just how shameless he could get.
“What the h:ell did you do?” Anthony snapped. “My mom was at Bergdorf Goodman, her card got declined in front of everyone, and they basically treated her like a th:ief.”
I leaned against my kitchen counter, staring at the steam rising from my coffee.
My kitchen.
My apartment.
The same place I bought before marrying him, yet somehow spent five years feeling like I didn’t belong.
“They didn’t treat her like anything,” I said calmly. “They just reminded her of something neither of you ever wanted to accept. If it’s not yours, you don’t get to use it.”
“Don’t be so petty, Marissa.”
Petty.
Coming from a man who spent years asking me to “be understanding” every time his mother humiliated me in front of everyone.
A man who let me pay for entire dinners, then raised his glass and said, “In this family, we support each other.”
Support each other.
Funny, considering they only ever showed up when it was time to take.
“Let me make this very clear, Anthony,” I said. “She is your mother, not mine. If she wants luxury, you pay for it. She will never touch another dollar I earn.”
Then I hung up.
When he called again, I blocked him.
Then another number.
And another.
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