“You are a Miller now, girl.” Her voice was a bark. “I will not repeat these rules. One — your salary routes to the joint account. I monitor the finances.

Two — you wake at six and cook my son a hot meal. Three — you clean this house, serve his dinner, bring him a beer. And four, you will be pregnant by the end of the year.

Your little sports hobbies are over. Your job is breeding. Do you understand?”

I lowered my head further and produced a pathetic sob. “I understand, Mom.”

I threw Tom a desperate, pleading look. His Adam’s apple bobbed frantically. “Mom… she gets it. I explained it to her yesterday.”

“Explaining is fine. Verification is better.”