“Your father betrayed our marriage,” I said carefully. “He has been involved with Aunt Celeste.”
Caleb stood so abruptly the ottoman slid backward across the floor. He walked outside without speaking, shoulders rigid, fists clenched at his sides. Sophie shook her head again and again, tears rising before she could stop them.
“No, Mom. That is not true. Dad loves us.”
I did not punish her for needing one more moment of innocence. Children do not stop loving a parent because the parent becomes unworthy. They grieve the version they still remember.
That same day, I hired a divorce attorney named Rebecca Sloan, a woman with sharp eyes, calm hands, and a voice that made nonsense sound legally expensive. I moved half of our joint savings into a protected account and gave Rebecca every document connected to our house, including proof that the original down payment had come from my grandmother’s inheritance.
Two days later, Audrey called me at work.
“Come home now,” she said. “Everyone is here, and this needs to end today.”
