I looked at my sister, then at my husband, and for a second I felt something worse than anger. I felt shame. As if I had walked into the wrong room.
“Take off my ring,” was all I could say.
Eva started crying right away, but she didn’t cry like we did when we were children. It wasn’t an open cry. It was a restrained, troubled cry, as if what bothered her most was having been found out.
Daniel tried to stand up. Tasha raised a hand and stopped him with just a look. I didn’t know whether to thank her or collapse against the wall.
—Clara, listen— he said.
“No,” I interrupted. “The ring first.”
Eva took it off with clumsy fingers. She placed it on the dresser. The metal hit the wood with a small, dry sound, and that sound hurt me more than the scream I hadn’t yet let out.
Leo took a step towards me. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair was flat from a bad night’s sleep, and his eyes were red.
He looked like a child. That was the worst part. Not the man in my bed. Not my sister under my blanket. My son standing between us, like he’d been holding up a broken door for days.
—Go to the kitchen— I told him.
