Sasha trembled, her old habit of submission resurfacing. But I stepped in front of my daughter. “You ask your wife? You should ask yourself.”
“Vivien, this is between my wife and me,” Omar snapped.
“No, this is between a homeowner and parasites,” I retorted. “Sasha, tell your husband where you’ve been sleeping for two weeks.”
Sasha took a deep breath, wiping her tears. “I sleep on the sofa, Omar. Because your mother said she needed a firm mattress, so she took our master bedroom.”
Omar froze. “What?”
“And tell him how much you spent on food,” I urged.
“$800,” Sasha said, her voice breaking. “I spent $800 of my own savings to feed eight people for two weeks, while you said you were broke and went out to eat with your dad.”
Omar looked at his mother. Denise avoided his gaze, awkwardly adjusting her blouse. “Mom… my back hurts. And Sasha said she didn’t mind…”
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