“Yes.”
“It’s one pool.”
“That’s not a unit of water.”
“You’ve become unbelievably petty since the divorce.”
I felt anger rise.
But something in me stayed calm.
“How long have you been using my faucet?”
“For the pool?”
“Yes.”
“A few days.”
“A few days?”
“Maybe a week.”
My stomach tightened.
“That explains the bill.”
She gave a little laugh.
“You can afford it.”
That was the moment.
Not the hose.
Not the water.
The laugh.
The assumption that what belonged to me was hers if she wanted it.
I said:
“You’re paying the additional charge.”
Margaret’s smile disappeared.
“I’m absolutely not.”
“You used it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You filled your pool from my house.”
“And?”
“And you owe me.”
She laughed again.
Louder.
“Claire, this is why Adrian couldn’t stand living with you toward the end.”
I went still.
There it was.
She never missed an opportunity.
“You obsessed over money.”
“Every little bill.”
“Every little expense.”
“Do you know how exhausting that was for him?”
Something clicked when she said bills.
Not fully.
Just enough.
All those old statements.
Water usage that never made sense.
