She did not call first.
I saw her through the window, standing stiffly on the porch in a fur-lined coat, holding a shopping bag from an expensive toy store. My stomach tightened so quickly I had to grip the sink.
Emma and Noah were at school.
Thank God.
I opened the door but did not invite her in.
Her gaze flicked past me. “Are the children here?”
“No.”
“I brought them something.”
“No.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“No,” I repeated. “You don’t get to arrive with emergency gifts and call it repair.”
Her face hardened.
“I am trying.”
“No. You are trying to regain access.”
She lifted the bag slightly. “These were not cheap.”
“That has never been the problem.”
She looked past me again, as if the house might side with her.
“You have turned everyone against me.”
“You did that yourself.”
Her nostrils flared. “You always have to win.”
