June pressed her face into Mara’s apron. Lily kept staring at me, waiting to see which story I would choose.
I asked the only question that mattered.
“How long?”
Vanessa opened her mouth first, but Mara answered.
“Since your Napa trip,” she said quietly. “Maybe before that. It got worse when she realized the girls were scared to tell you.”
Napa had been eight weeks earlier.
Eight weeks of dinners, ring fittings, wedding menus, and goodnight kisses. Eight weeks of my daughters learning how to shrink themselves inside a house I paid for.
I felt heat climb up my neck. Not rage first. Shame.
Vanessa stepped toward me. “You are seriously taking her word over mine?”
Lily pointed at the phone. “There’s more.”
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