too quickly, forcing a smile that looked painful on her face.
“Oh my goodness,” she said, her voice rising too high. “You’re home! Why didn’t you tell us? We would have prepared properly.”
I didn’t take my eyes off Emma.
“Prepared,” I repeated.
Jennifer laughed nervously. “Yes, of course. We’re having a little family dinner. Nothing major. Emma was just helping out because the caterers were overwhelmed.”
Emma looked down at the sink.
The lie hung between us, thin and insulting.
I stepped closer. “Emma, come here.”
She hesitated.
That hesitation told me more than Jennifer’s excuses ever could.
My wife, in my own home, was afraid to cross the room without permission.
Jennifer’s voice tightened. “Daniel, she’s covered in dishwater. Maybe let her clean herself up first.”
I finally looked at my sister.
For years, Jennifer had known how to sound wounded before anyone accused her of anything. She
