That night, Elowen and the kids moved into a small family room at the temporary housing center.
It had two bunk beds, one crib, and a window facing a brick wall.
Wren called it “our hotel.”
Elowen cried in the bathroom where the kids could not see.
I pretended not to hear.
My mother blamed me on the drive back.
Not for Sylas leaving.
Not exactly.
For “turning Elowen against her family structure.”
That was how Maura talked when she wanted her bad decisions to sound like wisdom.
“She needs support,” my mother said.
“She has support.”
“She needs her partner.”
“She needs a partner who stays when there are rules.”
Maura glared out the windshield.
“You have become cold.”
I kept both hands on the steering wheel.
“No,” I said. “I have become expensive to manipulate.”
She inhaled sharply.
I expected a slap of words.
A speech.
A curse.
