I never told my “mama boy” husband that I was the one who bought back his house and paid off all his debts. He believed his mother had saved him, while I was nothing more than a useless housewife. On Christmas Day, I spent the entire day preparing dinner, yet his mother refused to let me sit at the table. “You look filthy. I can’t enjoy my meal if I have to look at your face,” she said. I went to change my clothes and sat down again—only to be shoved so hard. “Don’t you understand? My mother doesn’t want to eat with you.” Blood streamed from my head, but they pretended not to see it. I calmly picked up my phone and called the police. “I’d like to report a crime,” I said. “Illegal trespassing and assault.”

Mark looked at the bank receipt. It showed a transfer from my personal trust directly to the mortgage lender. There was no denying it.

He looked at his mother. Agnes shrank back in her chair, unable to meet his eyes.

“Mom?” Mark whispered. “You said… you swore you handled it.”

“I was going to pay her back!” Agnes cried defensively. “I just needed a lucky streak!”

“So,” I said, wiping blood from my eyebrow. “You are not the lord of the manor, Mark. You are a guest. And you just assaulted the homeowner.”

Blue and red lights flashed through the front window, painting the walls in chaotic bursts of color. A siren wailed, cutting off abruptly as the cruiser pulled into the driveway.

“The police are here,” I said.

Mark panicked. “Elena, wait. Baby, please. Don’t do this. It was an accident. We can explain. Just tell them you fell. If I get an arrest record, I lose my license.”

“You should have thought of that before you cracked my head open,” I said.

Someone pounded on the front door. “Police! Open up!”

Mark moved to answer it, perhaps to spin his story first, but I was faster. I stumbled to the door and threw it open.