“This ends today, Harrison,” I said, feeling for the first time in months that someone truly saw my pain.
“So tell me just one thing, Leona, are you really leaving this house today?” he asked as he stepped closer.
I thought of Wyatt as a little boy with scraped knees and then I thought of the man who hit me last night, and I knew what I had to do.
“Yes, today is the day,” I said before we both heard the stairs creak as Wyatt began to walk down.
Wyatt walked into the kitchen yawning and disheveled, his arrogance still fully intact despite what he had done the night before. He saw the set table and smiled with a sense of superiority as he reached for a biscuit without asking.
“Well, it is about time you figured out how things should be done in this house,” he said.
I didn’t move an inch, but instead, I poured a cup of hot coffee and placed it in front of the chair where Harrison was sitting. Wyatt looked up and the biscuit fell from his hand as he realized his father was sitting right there in front of him.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Wyatt demanded.
“Sit down, Wyatt,” Harrison said as he clasped his hands on the table with a stillness that filled the entire kitchen.
“I asked you what he is doing in our house,” Wyatt shouted.
“And I told you to sit your ass down,” Harrison replied without needing to raise his voice.
Wyatt looked at me, searching for the usual moment where I would soften the blow or offer him an excuse, but he found nothing but a firm boundary.
“Sit down, Wyatt,” I told him, and he noticed that my voice was no longer filled with the pleading fear he was used to.
He roughly dragged a chair out and slumped into it while Harrison slid the brown folder into the center of the table.
“It is ridiculous that you think you can hit your mother and then just walk down to breakfast as if nothing happened,” Harrison said.
