They had never once imagined the actual structure of it: that the home they lorded over, the pool Bristol lounged beside, the roof they lived under rent-free, were mine, held in a trust their son had no claim to whatsoever, and that everything they enjoyed existed purely because I permitted it to.

I had let them keep the comfortable illusion for three years, out of a misguided sense of keeping the peace.

I had just, with two sentences, taken it away.

And Marguerite, who had never in her life responded to losing an argument with anything but escalation, did what she always did.

Chapter 5 — The Slap

She raised her right hand and slapped me across the face.