For five years, I had watched that strategy work on him. Whenever evidence appeared, Tiffany attacked the person holding it.
But this time, Kevin kept reading.
“Were you trying to move us into this house?” he asked.
Tiffany hesitated.
“Eventually, yes,” she admitted. “Your mother lives alone in a big house. We have children. It makes sense.”
I stood up.
“Tiffany,” I said, “you are not hosting Christmas here. Your family is not coming here. And you will not use my kitchen, my table, or my late husband’s home as the background for your plan.”
Her face turned red.
“You can’t ban my family from Kevin’s childhood home.”
“I can,” I said. “Because it is my home.”
Then Kevin picked up the leasing receipt.
His face changed.
“Tiffany,” he said slowly, “this deposit is not for the apartment we looked at together.”
For the first time that night, Tiffany looked afraid.
Kevin turned the paper toward her.
“What unit is this for?”
She said nothing.
I opened the folder to the final email and handed it to him.
He read the names.
Valyria.
Alejandro.
Marco.
Tiffany.
Then he sat down like his legs could no longer hold him.
