Then the doorbell rang, and I already knew, with total certainty, exactly who it was.
Rachel must have called Tyler from her car the very moment she pulled out of my driveway, and Tyler must have walked straight out of his own office the second he got that call, because there they both stood together on my porch now, Rachel in front, Tyler a step behind her, looking like a man who had swallowed an actual stone somewhere along the drive over.
“Debra,” Tyler started, “we need to talk about this like adults.”
“Come in,” I said, calm as still water on a windless day.
Rachel walked past me first, her eyes already scanning the foyer as though she were mentally selecting curtains for it. Tyler followed behind her, head down, shoulders rounded in a way I’d never once seen on him in eighteen years of marriage.
Margaret was waiting for them at the kitchen table, arms folded.
