Chapter 2
The doorbell rang again.
"Don't answer it," Linda hissed at Daniel.
But my father's voice boomed from the other side of the door.
"Open up, Harrington. Or I'll have the police do it for you."
Linda's hand flew to her mouth.
Daniel looked like he might throw up.
I walked to the door myself.
I unlocked it.
My father stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing his expensive coat like armor. Behind him stood a man in a sharp suit—his attorney, Mr. Chen.
And behind them were two uniformed police officers.
Linda gasped.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, trying to sound indignant. She failed. Her voice shook.
My father stepped inside.
He didn't look at Linda.
He didn't look at Daniel.
His eyes went straight to my face.
To the red handprint blooming on my cheek.
To the soup stains on my sweater.
To Emma, still clinging to my leg, her face streaked with tears.
Something in his jaw tightened.
"Who hit her?" he asked.
His voice was quiet.
Terrifyingly quiet.
Linda pointed at me.
"She attacked me first! She's been nothing but trouble since she married my son—"
"Emma," my father said, cutting her off. "Tell Grandpa what happened."
Emma looked up at him.
Then she pointed at Linda.
"Grandma hit Mommy," she said in her small, clear voice. "And she spilled soup on her."
Linda's face turned purple.
"That child is lying! She's been coached—"
"Enough," my father said.
He turned to the officers.
"My daughter was assaulted in this house. My granddaughter witnessed it. I want a report filed. And I want photographs of her injuries taken immediately."
One officer stepped forward.
"Ma'am, may I see your face?" he asked gently.
I turned my cheek toward him.
I heard Daniel make a sound behind me.
"Sarah, this is ridiculous," he said. "It was just a misunderstanding—"
"A misunderstanding?" My father finally looked at him. His eyes were cold as winter stone. "Your mother slapped my daughter. In front of your child. And you told her she provoked it."
Daniel flinched.
"I didn't mean—"
"You meant exactly what you said." My father turned to me. "Go pack your things. You and Emma are coming home with me."
Linda stepped forward, her hands balled into fists.
"You can't take her! She's my grandson's wife—"
"Daughter-in-law," I corrected her. For the first time all night, my voice didn't shake. "And watch me."
I walked toward the stairs.
Daniel followed.
"Sarah, wait," he said, grabbing my arm.
I wrenched free.
"Don't touch me."
We were in the hallway now, out of earshot of the others.
"Please," Daniel whispered. "Don't do this. Think about Emma. Think about us."
"I am thinking about Emma," I said. "I'm thinking she just watched her grandmother hit her mother and her father do nothing about it. That's the kind of thing that sticks with a kid, Daniel."
His face crumpled.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I panicked. She's my mother—"
"And I'm your wife." I stared at him. "Or I was."
I turned to walk up the stairs.
But then I saw it.
The door to Daniel's study was slightly ajar.
And on his desk, I could see a bank statement.
Part of it, anyway.
An account number I didn't recognize.
And a balance that made my blood run cold.
$287,400.
We didn't have that kind of money.
We'd been arguing about bills for months. He'd told me business was slow. That we needed to cut back on everything.
I stared at that statement.
May you like
And then I heard Daniel's voice behind me.
"Sarah, don't look at that."
