had a gift for turning every uncomfortable moment into proof that someone had misunderstood her. As children, she could break a vase and somehow make our mother comfort her.
But I wasn’t a boy anymore.
“Don’t speak for my wife,” I said.
Jennifer’s mouth closed.
Emma slowly pulled her hands from the water. Her fingers were red and swollen, the skin roughened around her knuckles. She wiped them on a towel, then seemed to realize the towel was dirty and folded her hands together instead.
When she reached me, she stopped a few feet away.
Not in my arms.
Not smiling.
Just standing there, uncertain.
I opened the velvet box in my palm. The diamond necklace caught the light from the fixtures above us, throwing small sparks across the steel counters.
“I brought this for you,” I said softly.
Emma stared at it.
For a second, her face trembled. The
