He mentioned bills, maintenance, tax, the roof, the garden, insurance, all the adult words that become weapons when spoken by someone waiting for you to feel small.
Melissa would glance at the hallway, then at the stairs, then at me.
She always looked around my home as though she were already deciding which walls would come down.
The day before their Europe trip, Daniel rang while I was upstairs folding laundry.
I missed the call.
A minute later, I saw he had left a voicemail.
I pressed play without thinking.
I expected a reminder about flights, passports, or the spare key he still kept on his ring from when Frank was ill.
Instead, I heard a car door slam.
Then Melissa laughed.
Not the soft kitchen laugh.
Her real one.
