“No,” he said under his breath.
The officer nodded. “Then you need to leave if the owner is asking you to leave.”
Victoria gasped. “He is her husband!”
The officer remained neutral. “That does not make him the property owner.”
For the first time since I had known her, Victoria had no control in the room.
Ryan asked to gather his belongings. I allowed it, but only with the officers present. He walked inside like a defeated teenager, nothing like the confident man who had laughed twenty minutes earlier. Victoria followed, still muttering that I had deceived everyone.
While they packed, I stood in the foyer and looked around my house—my house. The one I had designed piece by piece. The one I had imagined filling with love, laughter, maybe children someday. Instead, my husband had tried to hand it to his mother as if I were just a guest.
Ryan came downstairs with two bags, his face flushed.
“Can we talk alone?”
“No.”
“Megan, please. I messed up.”
“You humiliated me at my own front door.”
“I thought you’d calm down.”
That sentence changed everything.
“You thought I would accept it,” I said.
He swallowed.
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