Claire said it like she was reading a line she’d practiced in the mirror. Eyes glossy. Voice shaking at the right moments. Mouth almost smiling.
And Mark—my husband—looked at me like I’d already been convicted.
“Emily,” he said, cold and flat, “go pack. You can’t stay here tonight.”
I blinked, like maybe I’d misheard him.
“What?” My voice came out thin. “Mark… you’re kicking me out because she said so?”
He didn’t even ask what happened.
He didn’t ask for proof.
He didn’t ask me anything.
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