On the first day of our marriage, my husband threw a greasy dishcloth in my face and said, “From now on, you’re my family’s maid.” I smiled, left my wedding ring on the table, and walked out with my suitcase.

Then she gestured toward a laundry basket near the stairs.

“Mason’s work shirts need to be washed separately. Cold water. Hang dry. He hates when the collars shrink.”

Mason smiled.

“Mom will show you how we do things.”

I looked from him to Carol.

Then toward Dean.

He still hadn’t turned around.

“You’re serious.”

Mason’s smile disappeared.

“Completely.”

“Yesterday I was your wife.”

“You still are.”

“No. Yesterday you treated me like your wife.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Olivia, don’t start being dramatic.”

There it was.

The first attempt to rewrite what was happening while it was still happening.

I looked at the dirty rag in my hand.

Then I smiled.

Mason looked almost disappointed.

He had expected tears.

Maybe yelling.

Maybe begging.

Instead, I placed the rag carefully on the counter.

“All right.”

Carol blinked.

“All right?”

“I understand.”

Mason’s shoulders relaxed.

“Good.”