She placed her handbag on my console table.
“I meant what I told you on the phone. This has gone far enough.”
Four years earlier, that tone would have made my stomach tighten.
Two years earlier, I would have started explaining myself.
Six months earlier, I might have apologized just to stop the argument.
That afternoon, I simply walked into the living room.
“Come here.”
Beatrice frowned.
“I’m not discussing this again.”
“You’ll want to see what’s on the table.”
Adrian followed me.
Behind them came Gerald, Adrian’s father.
He
