I felt my face heat up, a mixture of anger and disbelief washing over me. Before I could say anything, Mr. Anderson appeared in the doorway, his expression darker than ever.
For a moment, I thought I’d misheard him. But the look in his eyes told me I hadn’t. My heart sank
. Tears welled up in my eyes before I could stop them. Without saying a word, I turned, went upstairs, and began packing a small bag for Tommy and myself.
Within minutes, I was out the door. No one stopped me. No one said goodbye. The only sound that followed me was the slam of the door behind me—a sound that told me everything I needed to know.
I spent the next few days at my mother’s house. It wasn’t perfect—her place was tiny and cluttered—but it was quiet. Peaceful. I could finally breathe. I called Adam, my husband, who was still away on a business trip, and told him everything.
“They what?!” he shouted over the phone. “They kicked you out? You and Tommy? I’m coming home.”
True to his word, Adam arrived that same night. The moment he walked through the door, he pulled me and Tommy into his arms, his jaw tight with fury. “I can’t believe they did this to you,” he said, voice trembling. “We’re going to sort this out right now.”
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