I closed the bedroom door and locked it.

A few minutes later I heard the voices come up through the hallway — Zachary had his family on speakerphone, and the whole chorus was assembling itself.

Tristan was telling his twisted little version of the evening.

His grandmother pronounced me an ungrateful, spiteful woman.

His grandfather agreed that I got worse with every passing month.

And then came the ex-wife’s voice, sweet as syrup poured over a knife. Don’t be too hard on Charlotte.

I’m sure she has her reasons.