Then Tiffany walked in. She looked at Harry, then at me.
“Dad,” she said, “just get him the beer. It isn’t worth fighting over.”
Harry stepped closer.
“You live in our house now,” he said. “So when I ask you to do something, you do it.”
I looked at my daughter, waiting for her to defend me.
She didn’t.
Instead, she stood beside him.
“Dad,” she said, “you need to decide. Either help Harry and do what he asks, or pack your things and leave.”
The room went silent.
When my daughter told me I could either obey her husband or leave the house, I did not argue.
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