“Mom,” she said in a calm voice that made my blood run cold, “I need you not to yell.”
The way she said it told me everything.
“What did you do?”
A pause. Then: “I got married.”
I stood there with a dish towel in my hands, the room spinning around me.
“To him?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“You married that man?”
“His name is Arthur.”
“I don’t care what his name is.” My voice cracked so loud I almost did not recognize it. “How old is he?”
Silence.
“How old is he, Chloe?”
“He is 56.”
