He had heard.
His face had gone pale.
For once, there was no anger.
Only horror.
He stepped into the room slowly.
“Mariela…”
I stood up so fast the chair scraped behind me.
“No.”
His eyes filled.
“I swear I didn’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
He stopped.
“Did you ask why she was sleeping all day? Did you ask why she stopped laughing? Did you ask why your mother kept calling our child bad?”
“I thought—”
“You thought what Diane told you to think.”
He flinched.
“She’s my mother.”
“And Emma is your daughter.”
He looked at Emma.
His mouth trembled.
“I know.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t. Because if you knew, you would have chosen her before tonight.”
Rachel appeared at the doorway.
