“I hadn’t won anything.”
She looked at Sam.
“And I’m not coming back to you. Not now. Not ever.”
I wanted to hate her.
Part of me still did.
But another part recognized that exhausted expression.
I’d seen it in my own mirror.
Then Vanessa looked around the table.
“Where’s Lily?”
Patricia stiffened.
“She couldn’t come.”
“She told me last week she wanted to.”
Sam answered quickly.
“She changed her mind.”
I frowned.
“Sam told me Lily refused weeks ago.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“She bought you a present.”
Sam looked toward the door.
“Vanessa, stop.”
“She told me she wanted to surprise you. When did you tell her not to come?”
I felt cold.
Three weeks earlier, I’d asked Sam whether we should invite his daughter.
He’d been standing in our kitchen.
Cutting an apple.
“Don’t bother,” he’d said.
“She doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
