I told him that was not consent. That was captivity.
He told me that was dramatic.
I told him the postnuptial agreement was on the table. I told him he could sign it tonight or he could discuss the basement with a judge.
Gabriel stared at me.
He asked whether I was seriously threatening divorce over a sleeping arrangement.
I told him I was not threatening anything. I was presenting documents. Documents were not threats. They were facts arranged on paper by someone with a law degree.
He picked up the postnuptial agreement. He read it again. Slowly.
Then he asked me a question that told me everything I needed to know about the man I had married.
He asked me what he would get if he signed.
Not what Mom would get. Not what I needed. What he would get.
I told him what he would get was the privilege of continuing to live in a house he did not own with a wife whose mother he had just put on an air mattress in a basement with an overturned bucket for a nightstand.
