His voice cracked slightly at the end, and for the first time I saw something beneath the anger. Fear. Real fear. The kind that had already imagined a worse outcome and had not yet recovered from it.
“She could have died,” he said quietly.
I had no answer.
Because it was true.
The sentence moved through me slowly, without mercy.
Lauren could have died in this house while I sat across from Olivia in a restaurant lit by candles, laughing at some story I could not even remember. Lauren could have died while I ignored my phone. Lauren could have died while I told myself I deserved a break.
I pressed my palms against my eyes.
“I didn’t think it would get that bad,” I said.
Daniel let out a breath. “That may be the most honest thing you’ve said. You didn’t think.”
The front window reflected the living room behind me. I saw myself in the glass, shoulders hunched, shirt wrinkled from travel, face pale and older than it had been that morning. For ten days, I had mistaken escape for freedom. Now I understood that I had only delayed the moment when truth would find me at home.
“Where is she staying?” I asked.
Daniel’s expression closed. “Somewhere safe.”
“With your mother?”
“Marcus.”
“I just want to know she’s okay.”
“She’s better than she was.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Better than she was meant better away from me.
Daniel moved toward the hallway and picked up a duffel bag I had not noticed before. It was mine, packed and zipped.
“What is that?”
“Some clothes. Toiletries. Your laptop. Lauren asked me to make sure you didn’t have a reason to go into the bedroom tonight.”
“You’re kicking me out of my own house?”
“No,” Daniel said. “Lauren is asking for space in the house she also owns, and I’m making sure you understand that request.”
“I have nowhere to go.”
He stared at me.
The irony needed no explanation.
I looked away first.
Daniel set the duffel by the front door. “There’s a hotel off Route 9. Or your office. Or Olivia’s.”
