The table seats eight, and the kitchen is huge. He is sitting at one end of the table, and I am at the other.
“Wait.” He says the moment I get up from the table. I sit back down.
“Petter left.” He looks at me intently. “I'll drive you.”
“No!” I impulsively get up from the chair.
“I'm not asking your permission!” He simply goes back to reading his newspaper.
“You can't do this to me.” Desperation starts to take over. “No one knows I'm married.”
“And why not?” He seems surprised, but he shouldn't be.
“Let's not get into this discussion again!” My blood is boiling with nerves.
“Liz, I'm sorry!”
“Sorry? Do you think apologizing will solve anything?”
“What do you want me to do?” At this moment, he gets up and walks toward me.
“Stay back!” I don't want to have a relapse like last nigh
