Daniel’s eyes grew wet, but whether from guilt or rage, I couldn’t tell.
“You don’t know what pressure feels like,” he said. “You have always had people waiting to rescue you. Margaret. Your mother’s name. This house. That tower.”
I stepped closer.
“My mother died,” I said quietly. “My aunt kept secrets. And you were my husband. You were supposed to be my family, not another locked door.”
The words settled between us.
For the first time that day, Daniel looked wounded by something other than exposure.
He looked ashamed.
But shame did not undo anything.
From the backyard, Lily called, “Mom?”
I turned.
She stood just inside the kitchen, Noah beside her.
I hadn’t heard them come in.
Their faces told me they had heard enough.
Noah’s lower lip trembled. “Dad took your money?”
Daniel moved toward him. “Buddy—”
Noah stepped behind Lily.
