why he had not come home.
I picked up my coffee.
“No.”
Daniel’s face changed.
His eyes searched mine, looking for anger or sarcasm or some indication that I was setting a trap.
He found none.
“You don’t care?” he asked.
I could have lied.
Instead, I said, “I don’t think there’s anything useful left for me to ask.”
Emma went completely still.
Daniel glanced at her, suddenly embarrassed.
“This isn’t a conversation for breakfast.”
“I agree,” I said.
Then I turned back to our daughter.
For the first time
