Carolina is sitting at the breakfast bar, with Brutus on her lap, and her right arm wrapped tightly around him. In her left hand is a glass of wine, and she sips at it every few seconds.

She glances up at me, and her face is the palest I've seen it.

“What was on the step?” she asks.

I wrestle with what to do. If I don't tell her, her imagination could provide something even worse. If I do tell her, she's going to be sick with fear for Brutus. I decide in this situation half the truth is the better truth.

“They left a dead rat on the step, and I didn't want you to see it. Nobody needs to see that; it was disgusting.”

She relaxes visibly and then a flash of anger crosses her face. “Samuel, we get a lot of dead rats around here. You've just scared me half to death.” She puts the glass down on the counter with a forceful clank and brings her hand to her chest as if trying to soothe her heart. “It probably wandered on there and died. Maybe ate something.”

“I can assure you that rats don't die naturally the way this one did. I don't wish to go into detail because it was gory. Somebody killed it, and somebody put it there. I've been doing this long enough to understand when I see a threat. Excuse me for trying to protect you from it.”

“Alright, I understand more clearly now.” She holds her hand up, placating. “But even if it has been killed horribly, I'm a grown woman and can deal with it. Trying to shield me in that way just made me more scared.”

Christ, this woman. Does she argue about everything? Losing my cool, I stalk over to her and bracket her with my arms either side of her. “Do you really have to turn every single fucking thing into an argument? Is this a pathology you have? You always must be right? I'm trying to do my fucking job here, Carolina. You are not making it easy for me.”

Her eyes blink rapidly, but she says nothing.

“Now, I'm going to go out there and check the perimeter of the house and get rid of the rat. You are going to stay here, sitting on that stool and not move. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she says with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“Good.”

I turn on my heel and stalk from the room, grabbing the cleaning things and leaving her ungrateful ass to sit and drink her wine. I'm so livid with her, I'm tempted to tell her the truth, but I know that would be an epic dick move, so I don't.