Chapter 1
"Pack your things, Jordan! You're twenty years old. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
The black duffel bag came flying across the living room before my son could even stand up.
It slammed against our expensive cream sofa, knocking two cushions onto the marble floor.
My husband, Marcus, stood over Jordan with his fists clenched.
His gray beard moved as he shouted.
"You're a grown man! Start acting like one!"
Jordan jumped to his feet.
"What are you talking about?"
"You heard me!"
Marcus pointed toward the front door.
"Pack your clothes and get out. I'm done supporting a grown man who contributes absolutely nothing!"
Jordan stared at him.
"This is my mother's house!"
Marcus laughed bitterly.
"Your mother's house?"
"Yes!"
"You sit here eating her food, using her electricity, water, and Wi-Fi, and you pay absolutely nothing!"
Jordan's face tightened.
"Mom never asked me to pay rent."
"Well, I'm asking!"
"You don't get to make that decision!"
Marcus took another step forward.
"Watch your mouth, boy."
Jordan stood his ground.
"Don't call me that."
I heard the shouting from upstairs.
At first, I thought they were arguing about something minor.
They'd never been particularly close.
Marcus was my second husband.
Jordan was my only child from my first marriage.
But I had spent three years believing we were slowly becoming a family.
Apparently, I'd been wrong.
I hurried downstairs wearing my pink satin pajamas.
The moment I entered the living room, I saw Jordan standing beside the sofa.
His face was pale with shock.
Marcus was pointing toward the door.
And an unfamiliar black duffel bag lay between them.
"What is going on?" I demanded.
Marcus turned.
"Nia, stay out of this."
I stopped.
"Excuse me?"
"This is between me and Jordan."
I looked at my son.
"Jordan?"
His eyes met mine.
"Mom, Marcus is kicking me out."
For a moment, I couldn't process the words.
Then I looked at my husband.
"You're doing what?"
Marcus folded his arms.
"He's twenty years old. He needs to learn how to support himself."
I stared at him.
"So you decided to throw him out?"
"Somebody has to teach him responsibility."
"Without discussing it with me?"
Marcus scoffed.
"Every time I try to discipline him, you interfere."
"Discipline him?"
I felt anger rising.
"He's an adult, Marcus. And this is his home."
Marcus pointed at Jordan.
"Exactly! He's an adult! Yet he lives here for free while I pay the bills!"
Jordan opened his mouth.
I raised my hand gently.
"Baby, let me handle this."
My son looked furious.
But he stepped back.
I moved between them.
"Marcus, you do not get to throw my son out of my house."
His expression darkened.
"Your house?"
"Yes. My house."
That statement wasn't an insult.
It was a fact.
I'd purchased our beautiful five-bedroom home six years before meeting Marcus.
I'd paid the down payment myself.
The mortgage was in my name.
The deed was in my name.
And I'd never asked Marcus to contribute toward ownership.
He paid some household expenses.
But he didn't own the property.
Apparently, somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten that.
Marcus stepped closer.
"Then maybe you should decide what's more important."
I frowned.
"What?"
He pointed at Jordan.
"Him or me."
The room went silent.
Jordan looked at me.
I saw something in his eyes that broke my heart.
Fear.
Not fear of Marcus.
Fear that I might actually choose my husband over him.
Marcus seemed confident.
He adjusted the sleeves of his black shirt.
"I'm serious, Nia. Either your grown son leaves, or I do."
I looked at him for several seconds.
Then I reached for the duffel bag.
Marcus smiled.
He actually smiled.
As though he'd already won.
I lifted the bag.
Then I shoved it into his chest.
"Easy."
His smile vanished.
"Excuse me?"
I pointed toward the front door.
"YOU leave."
Jordan gasped.
Marcus stared at me.
"Nia, don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not being ridiculous."
I took one step closer.
"You gave me a choice. I made it."
Marcus looked from me to Jordan.
"You're choosing him?"
"Every single time."
His face turned red.
"After everything I've done for this family?"
I almost laughed.
"Marcus, you don't get to threaten my child and then demand gratitude."
He tightened his grip on the duffel bag.
"This is unbelievable."
I opened the front door.
"Then believe this. You are not throwing my son out of his home."
Marcus stood motionless.
For a moment, I thought he might apologize.
Instead, he looked at Jordan.
"This is your fault."
My son straightened.
"No. It's yours."
Marcus turned back toward me.
"You'll regret this."
I met his eyes.
"The only thing I regret is letting you think you had the right to treat my son this way."
He stepped toward the doorway.
Then I held out my hand.
"One more thing."
Marcus frowned.
"What now?"
"Your house key."
He stared.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
"Nia—"
"Give it to me."
His jaw tightened.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out the silver key I'd given him on our wedding day.
He slapped it into my palm.
"There."
I closed my fingers around it.
"Thank you."
Marcus grabbed his jacket.
As he walked outside, he turned toward me one last time.
"You think you know everything about your precious son?"
My stomach tightened.
"What does that mean?"
Marcus smiled.
Not kindly.
Not sadly.
Coldly.
"Ask Jordan why he really stopped going to college."
Then he walked away.
I closed the door.
Behind me, Jordan had gone completely still.
I turned around.
"Jordan?"
He wouldn't look at me.
"Baby, what was Marcus talking about?"
My son stared at the floor.
May you like
Then he whispered something that made my heart stop.
"Mom, there's something I need to tell you."
