She swallowed. “Most of my things
are in the guest room.”
Jennifer quickly stepped forward. “That’s not what it sounds like. She moved there temporarily because Mother’s back was hurting and—”
“Enough,” I said.
The word wasn’t loud, but it ended the sentence.
From inside the house, laughter rolled through the open doors, followed by Michael’s voice calling for another bottle of champagne.
Emma looked at me, then back at the sink full of dishes.
“I should finish,” she said automatically.
I reached for her hand carefully, giving her enough time to pull away.
She didn’t.
Her fingers were cold despite the heat around us.
“No,” I said. “You shouldn’t.”
Something inside her seemed to loosen. Not enough to fall apart, but enough for her eyes to shine.
We walked through the back hallway together.
Jennifer followed us, whispering my name, trying to explain, trying to control the shape of the moment before it reached anyone
