Chapter 1
"I want your son out of this house tonight!"
My wife slammed her palm against the dining table so hard that a glass of water tipped over.
Nobody reached to catch it.
My twenty-year-old son, Malik, sat across from her with his shoulders pulled tight and his hands trembling beneath the table.
"Miss Jane, please," he whispered. "I already gave you my last three hundred dollars."
I stopped chewing.
Three hundred dollars?
I slowly lowered my fork.
"What did you just say?"
Malik looked at me.
Then he looked at Jane.
The fear in his eyes made my stomach tighten.
"Dad, it's nothing."
Jane folded her arms.
"Exactly. It's between me and Malik."
I stared at her.
"My son just told you he gave you three hundred dollars. Why?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Because he's twenty years old, Dennis. He's not a little boy anymore."
I turned toward Malik.
"Son, have you been giving Jane money?"
He hesitated.
That hesitation told me something was terribly wrong.
Finally, he nodded.
"Every month."
My chest tightened.
"How much?"
"Four hundred dollars."
I stared at him.
"For what?"
Malik swallowed.
"Rent."
The word hit me like a punch.
Rent?
In my own house?
The house I had purchased eight years before marrying Jane?
The house where I paid the mortgage, electricity, water, insurance, groceries, and every other bill?
I looked toward my wife.
"Jane, what is he talking about?"
She leaned back in her chair.
"I'm teaching him responsibility."
I stood.
"Responsibility?"
My voice came out louder than I intended.
"You're charging my son rent?"
She crossed her arms.
"Someone needs to teach him that adulthood isn't free."
I looked at Malik.
He was staring at his plate.
My son had always been hardworking.
He attended community college during the day and worked evenings at an auto-parts warehouse.
Sometimes he came home so exhausted that he fell asleep before finishing dinner.
He was saving money to transfer to a four-year university.
I knew every dollar mattered to him.
And I had told him repeatedly that he could live at home without paying rent while he finished school.
I wanted him to have the opportunities I never had.
I wanted him to build a future without carrying unnecessary debt.
Now I was learning that my wife had secretly taken money from him.
"For how long?" I asked.
Malik didn't answer.
I moved closer.
"Son, look at me."
He slowly raised his head.
"How long?"
His eyes filled with tears.
"Eight months."
I felt the room tilt.
Eight months.
Four hundred dollars every month.
That was three thousand two hundred dollars.
Money my son had earned working late shifts while trying to maintain his grades.
Jane clicked her tongue.
"Don't make this dramatic."
I turned toward her.
"Three thousand two hundred dollars isn't dramatic?"
She shrugged.
"He lives here. He eats here. He uses electricity."
"I PAY FOR ALL OF THAT!"
My voice shook the room.
Jane flinched.
But instead of apologizing, she hardened her expression.
"Don't yell at me in my own home."
I stared at her.
"Your own home?"
She lifted her chin.
"I'm your wife."
"And Malik is my son."
Silence settled over the table.
Then I looked toward the empty chair beside Jane.
It belonged to her twenty-five-year-old daughter, Tasha.
Tasha had moved into our house eighteen months earlier.
She didn't attend school.
She worked occasionally at a clothing boutique but spent most of her time shopping, meeting friends, and posting photographs of expensive restaurants online.
She had never offered to help with household bills.
Not once.
I looked directly at Jane.
"How much rent does Tasha pay?"
Her expression changed.
"Dennis, don't start."
"How much?"
"That's different."
"Why?"
"She's trying to figure out her life."
I laughed once.
There was nothing funny about it.
"My son works forty hours some weeks while attending college, but your daughter needs time to figure out her life?"
Jane slapped the table again.
"Don't bring my daughter into this!"
I pointed toward the hallway.
"You brought my son into it when you started taking his money."
Malik whispered, "Dad, please."
I turned.
His face was pale.
He looked terrified of what might happen next.
And suddenly I understood.
This wasn't the first time Jane had spoken to him this way.
It was simply the first time I had witnessed it.
I sat beside him.
"Malik, why didn't you tell me?"
His lower lip trembled.
"She said you'd be disappointed."
My chest tightened.
"Disappointed in what?"
He looked toward Jane.
"She said you thought I was spoiled."
I slowly turned my head.
Jane looked away.
Malik continued.
"She said you wanted me to learn how to support myself."
I couldn't speak.
"She told me you agreed to the rent but didn't want to discuss it directly."
I felt something inside me break.
Jane had used my name.
My authority.
My relationship with my son.
She had made him believe I wanted something I would never have demanded.
I reached for his hand.
"Malik, I never agreed to any of this."
His eyes widened.
"What?"
"I never asked Jane to collect rent from you."
He looked stunned.
"But she said—"
"She lied."
Jane jumped to her feet.
"Don't you dare call me a liar!"
I stood between her and Malik.
"Then tell me the truth."
She stared at me.
I spoke slowly.
"Did I ever authorize you to charge my son rent?"
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
"Did I?"
Finally, she snapped, "I don't need permission to run my household!"
I looked at the woman I had married.
For five years, I had believed we were building a family.
I had trusted her.
I had welcomed her daughter.
I had paid for vacations, birthdays, and holidays.
I had believed Jane cared about Malik.
Now I saw something cold behind her eyes.
Something I had ignored for too long.
"You're leaving," I said.
She blinked.
"What?"
"You are not going to stand in this house and financially exploit my son."
Jane laughed sharply.
"You're throwing your wife out over four hundred dollars?"
"No."
I looked toward Malik.
"I'm ending this because you lied to my son, took his money, and made him afraid to speak to me."
Jane's face reddened.
"You can't just throw me out!"
"Then we'll handle the separation legally. But this marriage is over."
She stared at me.
I pointed toward the doorway.
"Leave this room. If you threaten him again, I'll call the police."
Jane opened her mouth to argue.
Then Malik spoke.
"Dad?"
His voice was barely audible.
I turned immediately.
"What is it, son?"
He was staring at his hands.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"She took more than the three hundred dollars."
I felt my heart stop.
Jane's face went white.
I looked from my son to my wife.
"What do you mean?"
Malik swallowed.
"Dad, there's something else."
Jane suddenly shouted, "Malik, don't!"
He flinched.
I stepped closer to him.
"Don't what?"
He looked at Jane.
Then back at me.
His voice cracked.
"She made me sign something."
I stared at him.
"Sign what?"
May you like
Before he could answer, Jane lunged toward the hallway.
And I knew whatever my son was about to reveal was far worse than stolen rent.
