Two months later, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, I was half-dozing on the couch, nursing Elsie, when I heard Lina whispering in the living room.
Her tone was hushed, serious.
“No, Daddy doesn’t get to know,” she said. “That’s the rule.”
I froze.
Her back was to me. She was crouched beside her dollhouse, two dolls in her hands.
“Why can’t Daddy know?” I asked lightly, trying to sound amused.
She jumped — too fast, too guilty. “Nothing! Just doll stuff!”
“Wow,” I teased, “those dolls sure have a lot of rules.”
Her little shoulders stiffened. “They have to follow them.” Then she rushed to her room and slammed the door.
That night, after the girls were asleep, I told James.
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