Chapter 4 - The nursery
While I remained under observation, my father went with Rebecca and a police officer to our house.
Dorian was not there.
He was at Clarissa’s.
Our house belonged to both of us economically even though title was in Dorian’s name.
We had purchased it eighteen months after marriage using marital earnings and a mortgage paid during marriage.
Clarissa often called it:
“My son’s house.”
That did not automatically make me propertyless.
Inside, my father found the nursery we had been preparing.
Empty.
Not stripped completely.
But several items were gone.
Crib.
Changing table.
Rocking chair.
Two boxes of baby clothes.
The bassinet my mother had given me.
Where?
Clarissa’s house.
Dorian later admitted he had moved them three days before the shower.
He told me:
“Mom was helping organize.”
I said:
“You moved our baby’s crib to your mother’s house without telling me.”
“It was temporary.”
“Why?”
“She wanted everything ready.”
“For what?”
Silence.
Then Rebecca asked:
“Ready for the baby to live there?”
Dorian looked at her.
Not me.
“That was one possibility.”
May you like
One possibility.
The phrase made me feel sicker than an outright confession.
