My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“I want you out of my house,” she said to him.
Christopher did not move. He took a slow breath, his chest rising and falling beneath the dark wool, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Olivia,” my father murmured, his fingers stopping their tap for a single second before starting again.
“No, David,” she said, her voice clipping each word off like wire. “We are not doing this. He has three minutes to get his things and walk down the driveway.”
She turned her head slightly toward me, though her gaze stayed three inches to the left of my cheek.
“And if he does not, I am calling the county sheriff’s office.”
My left thumb went automatically to my silver band, twisting it twice around the knuckle.
“The sheriff,” I said, my voice sounding thin and small in the high-ceilinged room.
“Yes,” she said. “For trespassing. He has no business in this house, and he has no business in this family.”
Christopher stood up then, his tall frame blocking the light from the table lamp behind him. He reached down and brushed his left coat lapel with his thumb, a small, deliberate movement that seemed to take all the air out of the space between them.
