The laugh died when he looked up.
The living room lights were all on. Bankers boxes lined the hardwood floor in neat rows. Folders sat stacked on the coffee table, labeled in Emily’s careful handwriting: Mortgage. Tax Returns. Retirement Accounts. Credit Cards. Property Investments. Insurance. Legal. Twenty-two years of shared life, sorted and indexed while he ate steak with another woman.
And on the couch beside Emily sat David.
David Carter was not a large man in the theatrical sense, but he had the sturdy, grounded presence of someone who worked with his hands on weekends because sitting still annoyed him. He wore jeans, a navy sweatshirt, and an expression that made clear he had not come for polite conversation. He was a civil engineer, a father of three, and the only person in Emily’s family who had ever openly disliked Daniel enough to be honest about it.
Daniel stopped in the doorway. “What the hell is this?”
