Page 219 of Mario
“Oh.”
That makes me feel worse.
I sit up, clutching the sheet to myself. “Mario.”
"Hmm?" He absently toys with my hair.
“I feel bad.”
“For what?”
“For being the reason your sons were driven out of their own home.”
He blinks once.
Then, to my complete disbelief, he looks amused.
“They were not driven out.”
“They left.”
“They volunteered.”
I stare at him.
The words try to make sense in my head.
They don't.
“They volunteered,” I repeat slowly, “to leave their own house so their father could bring a woman home?”
His mouth curves. “Yes.”
I stare harder. “Is that... normal in your household?”
“No.”
That should be the end of it.
It is not.
Because he says it too casually.
Too simply.
The room feels very quiet suddenly.
“No?” I ask.
“No.”
I swallow.
There is a question sitting between us now, and I do not know if I am allowed to touch it.
Because I researched what I could.
Of course I did.
