he turned up the television volume.
That was the moment I realized reasoning with him wasn’t going to work.
At 7:18 that evening, I called his mother.
Elaine Keller was sixty-four, a retired schoolteacher, and one of the few people in Nick’s family who had always treated me with genuine kindness.
I’d never asked her to interfere in our marriage.
But I didn’t know what else to do.
“Elaine,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady, “Nick took all my maternity clothes and gave them to Tara. She’s
