Frank put a hand on my shoulder, but I barely felt it.
For forty years, Margaret had slept beside me, prayed beside me, and kissed me goodnight. For the past month, she had looked me in the eyes every morning and handed me poison.
Then came the final blow.
Madison rolled her eyes. “God, Ethan is so gullible. He gets it from his father.”
Margaret smiled thinly.
“Charles?” she scoffed. “No. Ethan isn’t Charles’s son. He’s Daniel’s.”
Pastor Daniel Brooks.
My closest friend.
My golfing partner.
The man who baptized the boy I believed was mine.
The man who sat at my dinner table for thirty years and preached morality to my family.
