My husband invited his ex to our housewarming party and made it crystal clear that if I couldn’t handle it, I was free to leave. So I gave him the calmest, most “mature” response of my life.
The night he told me, I was sitting on the kitchen floor of our tiny apartment in Austin, Texas, fixing a leaking pipe beneath the sink. My hair was tied back, my jeans were stained from work, and I still had a wrench in my hand.
Then the front door slammed hard enough to shake the picture frames.
When I slid out from under the cabinet, Liam was standing there with his arms folded, looking like a boss preparing to discipline an employee.
Saturday. Our housewarming. Our first real party since moving in together.
“What about it?” I asked, wiping my hands.
“Who?” I asked.
“Vanessa.”
The one he always had excuses for. The one he still followed online because, according to him, “blocking people is childish.”
I set the wrench down. The sound it made against the floor seemed louder than it should have.
“You invited your ex to our housewarming party?” I asked.
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes. We’re friends. Good friends. If that makes you uncomfortable, then maybe you’re more insecure than I thought.”
There it was. Not a discussion. A warning.
He was expecting anger. Tears. A scene. Instead, I smiled. Calmly. Steadily.
“I’ll be very mature,” I said. “I promise.”
