Whenever he spoke, I heard your voice. He said different words than you would use. It only worked when I couldn’t see his face.
But if I was alone, just out the way, and heard his voice coming from another room, it became yours. By the time that voice hit my ears it was yours and not his.
I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I couldn’t have him at the house anymore. I told Fran he’d made a move. She was outraged. I cried, but mostly from shame at what I needed to do. I chose to believe that if he knew you, he’d understand.