“Let me make something perfectly clear to you,” he said in a low, level voice that sounded rehearsed and reasonable.

“If you keep questioning my parenting or filling our daughter’s head with wild ideas about court proceedings, I’ll file for full legal separation by Monday morning.”

“She’s six years old, Grant.”

“And I’m the only one supporting this household,” he said.

He reached past my arm, took hold of the edge of the heavy wooden closet door, and pushed it shut between us until the latch clicked.

Grant left the house twenty minutes later, his tires crunching over the wet gravel of the driveway.