By seven, my phone began to ring.

It was Graham.

I answered and put him on speaker, keeping my voice quiet so I would not wake the girls.

“Where the hell are you?” Graham demanded.

His voice was thick with anger and sleep.

“We are at a hotel,” I said.

“You need to get back to the house right now,” he said. “My mother spent the night in tears because of how you insulted her.”

“I did not insult her, Graham. I protected our daughters.”

“I don’t care about your excuses,” he snapped. “She is refusing to sign over the trust bridge loan for my commercial lease.”

“That is your problem, not mine.”

“It is your problem if I go under, Jocelyn! You enjoy this lifestyle, don’t you?”

I looked around the elegant suite, funded entirely by my own bank accounts.

“I will survive,” I said.

“You are going to drive to her house, you are going to apologize on your knees if you have to, and you are going to fix this,” he said.

“I am not doing that.”