Then a hard knock sounded at the front door.
Jessi flinched.
I looked toward the hallway, recognizing the aggressive rhythm before the doorbell even rang.
Wendy.
Jessi started forward, but I gently touched her forearm.
“Let me handle this. This is mine.”
I walked past the living room, where Leo was stacking his plastic bricks, and opened the front door.
My mother stood outside in an expensive beige wool coat with a leather handbag. Cold had reddened her cheeks, but her eyes still carried the same controlling certainty she had used on me for decades.
“Ivan,” she said, immediately trying to step around me. “Thank goodness you’re still here. We need to talk privately before that girl fills your head with more nonsense—”
I did not move aside.
“You are not coming into this house, Mom.”
Wendy froze.
“Ivan! I’m your mother. I came here to protect you from—”
“You didn’t come to protect me. You came to keep controlling me. For seven years, you let Jessi believe I abandoned my child. You allowed my son to grow up without his father. You forged my intentions and destroyed lives because you couldn’t accept me choosing something you didn’t approve of.”
