Now she saw how effortlessly a shared life had curdled into entitlement — how the generosity she had offered as love had been received, by everyone in the house, as the climate, the default, the way things were, no more worthy of thanks than the air.

Gwendolyn recovered first.

“So what are you saying?

That because your father left you a house, you can throw your husband’s mother into the street?” “I haven’t said that,” Marisol replied.

“Then why wave that paper around?” And Marisol stood up.

“Because for two years you’ve called this Dorian’s house while treating me like an inconvenient person living inside it — and Dorian has let you believe it, because correcting you would have meant confronting you.”

Chapter 6 — You Knew