CHAPTER 2 — THE BREAKING POINT
The fear in Emily’s eyes felt like a physical blow to my chest. This was my wife—the woman who had supported me when I had nothing, the woman currently carrying our miracle baby after years of trying. And she was terrified of my family in our home.
"How long, Emily?" I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of rage and heartbreak. "How long has this been going on?"
She looked down at her swollen feet, a tear dripping into the greasy dishwater. "Since they moved in two months ago, Ethan. When you’re at work... it’s different. Your mom tells me I’m lazy. Lily demands I cook specific meals because she’s on a diet. Kayla and Brittany leave their clothes everywhere and expect me to do their laundry. If I sit down, they call me dramatic."
She sobbed, covering her mouth to keep the sound from reaching the living room. "Yesterday, my doctor said my blood pressure is dangerously high. He told me I need bed rest. But when I tried to rest today, your mother banged on the bedroom door and said I was hiding from my duties as a housewife."
A hot, blinding fury flooded my veins. For the past two months, I had been working 70-hour weeks, coming home exhausted, believing my family was here to help us prepare for the baby. I had taken on extra shifts just to cover my mother's medical bills and my sisters' retail debts. I was killing myself for them, while they were systematically breaking my wife.
"Sit down," I told Emily gently, pulling out a kitchen chair.
"Ethan, please, your mother's heart condition—"
"My mother is eating potato chips and screaming at a television, Emily. Her heart is fine. You and our son are the ones in danger."
I walked out of the kitchen. The transition from the quiet, suffocating pain of the kitchen to the loud, careless luxury of the living room made my stomach turn.
"Ethan, tell your wife to buy the good brand of orange juice next time," Lily called out, not looking up from her tablet. "This cheap stuff tastes like chemicals."
I stood in the center of the room, blocking the television screen. Kayla groaned. "Hey! Move, we're watching that!"
"The show is over," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it was so cold that the room instantly fell silent. Even my mother stopped chewing.
"Ethan, what is wrong with you?" my mother asked, adjusting her blanket. "You come home from work with an attitude. Is your wife whispering in your ear again? I told you, that girl doesn't know how to respect family."
"Family?" I echoed, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. "Look around this room. Look at the trash. Look at the food. Who bought all of this?"
"Well, you did, but we're your family—" Brittany started.
"I bought it with money I earned by destroying my back at a warehouse," I snapped, pointing a finger at her. "The phone in your hand? I paid for it. The couch you're sitting on? I pay the rent for it. And while I am out making sure you all have a roof over your heads, you are treating my pregnant wife like a slave!"
My mother sat up, her face twisting into an expression of offended righteousness. "How dare you speak to your mother like that! We are helping you! We are keeping her company!"
"She is eight months pregnant with dangerously high blood pressure!" I roared, the walls of the apartment shaking. "She was shaking over the sink, crying, because you parasites can't clean up after yourselves! You haven't helped with a single bill. You haven't cleaned a single plate. You are draining me dry and killing my wife."
"Ethan!" my mother shrieked, clutching her chest. "My heart! You're going to give me a heart attack!"
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In the past, that gesture would have made me drop everything to apologize. Tonight, I felt absolutely nothing.
"Pack your bags," I said, my voice dead and final. "All of you. Get out of my house."
