“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” she said, too fast.
I walked past her into the house, carrying the twins in their car seats. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. The house smelled like tomato sauce and fresh bread. Just hours ago, I had imagined laughter filling these rooms.
Now it felt like a funeral.
Mom followed me inside. “Daniel, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do anything.”
“Then why would she write this?” I snapped. “She wouldn’t just leave. Not without a word. Not without the girls.”
The babies started to fuss, as if they could feel the tension hanging in the air. I picked up one of them, little Ava, and held her against my chest. She was so small. So warm. So innocent.
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