“Regarding the house.”

“You mean my house,” I said, very quietly.

His voice dropped into a register I knew well, the one he used when he had decided a conversation was over.

“You abandoned the property, Clara.”

“I slept in a hotel,” I said, “because we buried our four-year-old son on Monday afternoon, and on Monday night you brought your pregnant mistress into my kitchen and told me to get out.”

“Chloe is moving her things in today,” he snapped.