Chương 9
Daniel set down his sandwich. “I’m not asking anyone to admire me.”
“You want to feel useful.”
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
Claire looked away.
He continued, “But I’m also staying because they need a parent here.”
“They have two.”
“Right now, they have one they feel safe with.”
Lily stopped chewing.
Claire’s face went still.
Daniel regretted saying it in front of the children, though he did not regret the truth. He had delivered it like a weapon because part of him wanted Claire hurt.
That mattered.
“I shouldn’t have said it that way,” he said.
Claire gave him a cold smile. “But you’re glad you said it.”
He did not deny it.
The children finished eating. Daniel rinsed the plates and placed them in the dishwasher. He used the wrong compartment for the detergent pod, and Claire corrected him automatically.
“The small one.”
“I knew that.”
“You put it in the large one.”
“I was testing you.”
Owen snorted.
Claire looked toward him. For a second, her face almost softened.
Then Owen remembered himself and looked down.
Daniel closed the dishwasher. “The kids and I are going upstairs to pack.”
Claire’s expression sharpened. “Pack for where?”
“The downstairs primary suite.”
“That room smells like dust.”
“It has windows.”
“You are not moving them out of their rooms because of me.”
“I’m not leaving them alone upstairs tonight.”
“You can sleep in the hall.”
Lily whispered, “I don’t want the hall.”
Daniel looked at her. “Then we won’t use the hall.”
Claire rubbed her forehead. “This is becoming absurd.”
“No,” Daniel said. “It became absurd when a seven-year-old had to explain where she didn’t feel safe.”
Claire pushed her glass away.
“I’ll leave,” she said.
The room went silent.
Owen stared at her.
Claire swallowed. “Not forever. For tonight.”
Daniel felt immediate relief, followed by suspicion, then guilt for the suspicion.
“Where will you go?” he asked.
“I’ll find somewhere.”
“Don’t drive if you’ve taken migraine medication.”
“I haven’t taken it yet.”
“You’re upset.”
“I’m aware.”
“Stay in the guest suite until morning.”
She laughed softly. “Five minutes ago, I was too dangerous to sleep under the same roof.”
“I said you couldn’t be alone with them.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Daniel leaned against the counter. “I’m trying to make the safest decision without turning the morning into something even more chaotic.”
“For whom?”
“For the children.”
“Always the children.”
Owen flinched.
Claire saw it. She closed her eyes.
“That sounded wrong,” she said.
“It sounded true,” Daniel replied.
She looked at him. “You love that answer.”
“No.”
“You finally have proof that your guilt is noble.”
Daniel’s patience broke.
“My guilt is not noble. I left them with someone who resented them and kept pretending everyone needed more time to adjust.”
Claire’s chair scraped backward.
“I did not resent them every day.”
“But you did today.”
“I resented you.”
“You used them.”
“I lost control.”
“You picked the smaller people in the room.”
The words landed harder than he intended.
Claire stood motionless.
Daniel heard his own breathing. He saw Owen watching him, learning again that adults could turn pain into sharper pain.
Daniel stepped back.
“I need to stop,” he said.
Claire looked at him as though the sentence were another tactic.
“I’m too angry to keep talking well,” he continued. “The children don’t need to hear us punish each other.”
Owen said, “You already are.”
Daniel nodded. “You’re right.”
He turned off the kitchen light though daylight filled the room. It was a useless movement, something to do with his hand.
“We’ll take an hour,” he said. “Separate rooms. No decisions.”
Claire picked up her medication and shoes.
“Will you let me go upstairs alone?”
Daniel hesitated.
She saw the hesitation and looked toward the ceiling.
“I am not going to touch their things.”
“I’ll come with you,” Daniel said.
Owen began to stand.
Daniel shook his head. “You can stay here with Lily. I’ll keep the bedroom door open, and you can call me.”
The boy remained tense.
“I’ll be gone three minutes.”
Owen looked at Claire, then nodded.
Upstairs, Claire walked into the primary bedroom and placed her shoes on the floor. She took a small overnight bag from the closet.
Daniel stood near the open door.
“You can come inside,” she said. “I don’t have a hidden weapon.”
He stayed where he was.
Claire put two shirts into the bag. “You know what I hate most?”
“I’m not sure I want to guess.”
“That you’re calm now.”
“I’m not calm.”
“You look calm.”
“I’m trying not to frighten them.”
“That skill would have been useful in Tampa.”
“Yes.”
She stopped folding.
“I forgave you,” she said.
“I know.”
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t make you sleep downstairs.”
“You keep saying that as though your choice obligates the children to make the same one.”
“They’re children. You’re making the choice.”
“I’m making the immediate safety choice. The rest isn’t mine alone.”
Claire stared at the bag. “You think they should decide whether I stay married to you?”
“No. But what happened to them matters more than whether separation embarrasses us.”
“You think that’s what I’m afraid of?”
“What are you afraid of?”
She zipped the bag halfway, then opened it again because a sleeve had caught in the teeth.
“That you’ll decide I’m exactly what they think I am,” she said.
“What do they think you are?”
“A woman who came into their house and wanted their old life erased.”
Daniel looked around the bedroom. Claire had changed the curtains, the rug, and the paint after they married. She had asked the children before touching their rooms. At the time, he had praised her sensitivity.
“Did you?” he asked.
“No.”
Her answer came too quickly.
Claire pulled the trapped sleeve free. “I wanted a life that belonged to me too.”
“That’s different.”
“Not to them.”
“You could have told me.”
May you like
“I did.”
Daniel leaned his head against the doorframe.
