They must have fought about me.
How often did they throw things? Does he throw his punches, do they fight with icey language? I think not. I think it is a house of toxic silences, creeping, creaky floorboards...
But why should it matter, whether or not they argue about me? If I'm not wanted, then being important is just a booby prize. And if I am wanted, then eventually he'll rot in hell.
Whatever. I'm out of earshot. I'm only there as the narrator. And, as the narrator, who know, I might arrange, behind my back, for them to laugh
