Harold blinked.
“Why?”
“Because that is my room!”
“Our guest room,” he corrected.
“I am sleeping there!”
“And?”
“I
deserve privacy!”
Harold tilted his head slightly.
That was when I understood what he was doing.
He wasn’t angry.
If he had been angry, Grace would have known exactly how to fight him.
Instead, he was calmly repeating her own logic back to her.
Grace pointed at him.
“This is completely different.”
“How?”
“I’m your mother.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re my son.”
“Yes.”
She seemed to think those facts settled the argument.
Harold simply waited.
Grace’s face tightened.
“I cannot believe you would humiliate me this way.”
That word changed his expression.
