Chapter 2
Series 1 Chapter 2
The Woman of My House
The first person to call Rebecca the woman of my house was David’s mother.
She wrote it beneath the family photograph I had taken less than ten minutes earlier.
This house finally has its woman back.
I read the comment twice.
Marilyn knew the house was mine. She had been here the day I moved in, three years before I married her son. She had watched my mother help me choose the curtains that still hung behind David and Rebecca in the photograph.
Other comments appeared beneath hers.
The kids finally have their family back.
You four were always meant to find your way back to each other.
Rebecca replied to Marilyn first.
It certainly felt that way tonight.
David had liked that reply too.
I found him in the living room with Rebecca and the children. Noah was showing them one of his new toys. Emma sat between her parents on the couch.
I held my phone out to David.
“AreAre you going to correct them?”
He barely glanced at the screen. “Correct what?”
“Your mother just called Rebecca the woman of my house.”
Rebecca looked down at her own phone.
David sighed. “My mother leaves comments like that on everything.”
“And Rebecca agreed with her.”
“It’s Facebook, Claire. Nobody takes it that seriously.”
“You left a heart under the picture.”
“For the kids.”
“Then write that. Tell them it was a picture for the kids and that Rebecca doesn’t live here.”
Emma looked toward us.
David noticed.
“Can we not do this now?” he said quietly. “Everyone knows Rebecca and I are divorced. If I start correcting people, it’ll turn into a whole thing.”
“It already is a whole thing.”
“You’ll embarrass my mother. You’ll embarrass Rebecca.”
“Whose embarrassment are you protecting?”
His jaw tightened.
Rebecca stood and called the children to gather their things. She didn’t remove the post. She didn’t correct the comment.
David didn’t ask her to.
The next morning, every dish from Christmas dinner was still in the kitchen.
Grease had hardened in the roasting pan. Half-empty glasses covered the counter. Dried gravy clung to the serving spoon beside the stove.
For the first time in five years, I had gone to bed without cleaning up after everyone.
David came downstairs and stopped in the doorway.
“You’re really going to leave all this here?”
I took another sip of coffee.
“I’m waiting for the woman of the house to come back and wash it.”
He stared at me. “You’re still angry about that comment?”
“I cooked the dinner. I bought the gifts. I cleaned the house. Rebecca stood in the picture, and your mother gave her credit for being the woman who belongs here.”
“It was one comment.”
“You could have corrected it.”
“And started a fight on Christmas?”
“You were willing to have one with me.”
David rubbed a hand over his face.
“You’re turning a family photo into a marriage crisis. Rebecca made the kids feel like they had a complete family again. Can’t you let them have that?”
“What did that make me?”
“This isn’t about you, Claire.”
The answer came so easily that I knew he didn’t hear what was wrong with it.
I placed my coffee cup in the dishwasher.
“You wanted the picture,” I said. “You can clean up what was outside the frame.”
I left him standing beside the sink.
Later, I went into the guest bathroom to collect the towels. Rebecca had left the red plaid pajamas in the laundry basket.
I picked them up and checked the washing instructions.
The label said XS.
I wore a medium.
I went upstairs and opened my dresser.
My pajamas were still beneath the tissue paper, exactly where I had left them.
David hadn’t given Rebecca my clothes.
He had lied about where hers came from.