In ninety days, he hadn't done it once. Every single time, all he did was tell me to be the bigger person.
This was one more time. And the last.
I wanted to see what he would do.
He caught my gaze, and Edgar stepped forward.
"Mom, that's enough. It's just a plate."
Something loosened in my chest.
For a split second, I almost believed he was finally going to act like a husband and think of me.
But then he cleared his throat and turned to my father.
"But, Dad, the thing about my mom is, her words might be rough..."
"But she's got a point!"
His voice sharpened without warning.
"Parents need to understand boundaries."
"As a guest in our home, you used our things without permission. Where I come from, that's called stealing. You didn't know that?"
The words were designed to humiliate.
Every drop of color drained from my father's face.
He never could have imagined. Two years of marriage. Every holiday, he'd sent gift money without fail. He'd shipped boxes of homegrown produce from the countryside. And whenever Edgar needed a favor, it was always "Dad" this and "Dad" that, sweet as could be.
Now, over a single plate, his son-in-law was calling him a thief.
Dad opened his mouth, but nothing came out.