Page 108 of Nine Months to Love
Margaret’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.
“She doesn’t need my money. She doesn’t need your approval. And she certainly doesn’t need to be told to ‘stick to her strengths’ by someone who’s never built anything in her life except a reputation for snub-nosed cruelty.”
“How dare you?—”
“I’m not finished.” Stefan’s voice drops even lower. “If you expect to be a part of our lives, then I’ll thank you to watch how you speak to my wife in the future.”
Wife.
He just called me hiswife.
Margaret’s face goes pale, then red. Dad’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline.
Stefan doesn’t seem to notice what he’s said. He turns to me, extends his hand.
“We’re leaving.”
I don’t hesitate. I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet.
“Olivia, sit down,” Margaret commands.
“No.”
It comes out stronger than I expected. Clearer.
Stefan’s hand tightens around mine.
“If you walk out that door—” Margaret starts.
“What?” I turn back to face her. “You’ll cut me off? Disown me? Stop talking to me?” I laugh at her. “You’ve been doing that my whole life, Mother. The only difference is that now, I’m choosing it.”
We leave our plates half-full, our wine glasses untouched. Stefan grabs my coat from the hall closet and helps me into it with surprising gentleness given the fury radiating off him.
The door slams behind us.
The night air is sharp, clean. I breathe it in like I’ve been drowning.
Stefan still has my hand. He pulls me toward the car, his stride so long I have to half-jog to keep up. He opens the passenger door, waits for me to get in, then slams it hard enough to rattle the windows.
When he gets in on the driver’s side, his hands are shaking. He starts the engine and rips away from the curb too fast. The tires squeal.
“I can’t believe her. I can’t fucking believe—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. “How does she talk to you like that? Her own daughter?”
“She’s always been that way.”
“No. Don’t make excuses for her.” His hands tighten on the wheel. “She’s toxic. She’s poison. She sits there in her perfect house with her perfect life and tears you down because it makes her feel powerful.”
We’re driving too fast. The speedometer creeps past sixty in a thirty-five zone.
“Stefan, you need to slow down.”
“And your father just sits there. Says nothing. Does nothing. What kind of man?—”
“Stefan.” I put my hand on his arm. “Pull over.”
“What?”
“You’re too angry to drive. Pull over.”
