Daniel stopped.
That small movement broke him in a way my words had not.
He stood in the foyer with his suitcase at his feet, the life he had tried to control collapsing around him, and looked at his children as though they were already far away.
Lily’s eyes were full of tears, but her voice was clear.
“Why did you make Mom feel poor?”
Daniel’s mouth worked.
No answer.
Lily wiped her cheek angrily. “Why did you make her cry in the pantry?”
My breath caught.
She knew.
All those nights I had pressed a dish towel to my mouth so they wouldn’t hear.
She had known.
Daniel’s face crumpled. “Lily, I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you did,” she said.
Three words.
Plain. Small. Devastating.
Daniel looked down.
I crossed to my daughter and wrapped an arm around her. Noah leaned into my other side. We stood there together, the three of us, not untouched by what had happened but unbroken.
