“I mean biologically speaking, of course,” Gretchen stammered quickly, trying to patch the gaping hole in her defense.

“You’re deliberately twisting my words to make me out to be a villain.”

“I didn’t twist one syllable, Gretchen, I just let you speak your honest truth without interrupting,” I told her, my voice shaking with deep disgust.

I slowly turned my head toward my husband, who sat with his hands clenched tight in his lap, staring down at the quartz island like a convicted criminal.

“Do you agree with your mother, Peter?” I asked him, each word dropping like a lead weight between us.