He’d held my hand while I cried about them.
He’d promised he’d never make me feel that way.
And now he was refusing to answer even the simplest questions about our marriage.
I looked at him.
“My father used to make promises too.”
Tony frowned.
“Jennifer, this has nothing to do with your father.”
“Then stop behaving like him.”
He stared at me.
“I spent my childhood waiting for someone to tell me the truth about why he never showed up. I’m not spending my marriage waiting for answers you refuse to give.”
Tony said nothing.
Friday couldn’t come quickly enough.
At 6:58 that evening, Tony was pacing around our living room.
He’d barely spoken to me all day.
At exactly seven o’clock, the doorbell rang.
Dakota stood outside holding a folder.
I invited her in and directed her toward the dining table.
Tony sat down reluctantly.
