He went on, as if explaining a list he had memorized.
“I also have rules. First, you must never touch my phone. My phone is private, always. But your phone? I must have access to it at any time.”
My lips parted slightly.
“Second, if I want us to have s*x anywhere, you must agree. You already have so many kids, so spreading your legs shouldn’t be new to you.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks—shame and fury mixing together.
But he didn’t stop.
“Third…” He kept listing rules, each one more insulting than the last. His tone was calm, almost cheerful, like he was talking about the weather.
I sat frozen, my fingers digging into my palms. Each word chipped away at the thin wall of patience I had left.
Then came the final straw.
“Lastly,” he said with a casual shrug, “I heard you have eight kids.
