My mother, Diane, slowly placed her fork down. “Nathan,” she said under her breath.
But I didn’t look at anyone else.
Only my wife.
The color drained from Emily’s face. Her hand trembled once where it rested on her dress before she dropped it. “What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.” I leaned back, my tone calm—almost courteous—which made it sharper. “When. Exactly.”
Chloe stared between us, confused and scared. Mark stopped chewing. Even the grandfather clock in the hallway suddenly sounded too loud.
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