Chapter 13 - SEBASTIAN’S ANGER
Everyone focused on Eleanor. Sebastian’s anger nearly escaped scrutiny.
The table flip had looked heroic. People loved story.
Husband sees pregnant wife humiliated, flips banquet table, cuts off mother. Viral.
But afterward I told him: “You scared me too.” He stared.
“I was protecting you.” “The table exploded glass everywhere.”
He looked down. He had not considered.
One shard landed near my foot. Guests jumped.
Could have hit me. Then: “I’m sorry.” Good. Then therapy.
Not because abusive husband. Because explosive anger was still unsafe.
His father had flipped desks too. Family men expressed protection through destruction.
That was another pattern. Then Sebastian learned to leave room. Speak. Call security.
Not flip furniture. Then one day Eleanor provoked him at trust meeting.
“You let Clara turn you against family.” He stood.
I watched. He breathed.
Then said: “No. Your choices did.” No table. Progress.
Then he apologized to banquet guests for property damage and fear. Even those who laughed at me.
That mattered. Then one guest said: “I deserved to be scared.”
No. He answered: “No one deserved flying glass.”
Good. Then my own anger.
I had begun expecting Sebastian to defend every boundary for me. That risked replacing Eleanor’s control with husband’s protection.
I told him: “Sometimes let me answer.” He smiled.
“Gladly.” Then at one family lunch, Eleanor asked whether Owen would attend Vance preschool.
I said no. She looked at Sebastian.
He kept eating. Good.
May you like
I repeated: “No.” Eleanor nodded.
No debate. That tiny boring exchange was worth more than any table flip.
