Chapter 4
Nathan stopped moving.
Brooke slowly lowered her glass.
“I beg your pardon?”
Emily stood.
“You have nothing to forgive me for, Brooke.”
“Not yet.”
She walked toward the living room.
Nathan shoved his chair backward.
“Emily.”
“Don’t you dare.”
She took hold of the black cloth with both hands.
For the first time in five years, the Davenport family looked at her without condescension.
They looked at her with fear.
Before she pulled the fabric away, Emily said,
“Welcome to the real Davenport family dinner.”
She tore the cloth down in one swift motion.
The giant photograph stood exposed beneath the chandelier.
For three seconds, no one spoke.
No one seemed to breathe.
The room felt suspended, as though the house understood the force of what had happened before the people inside it did.
There they were.
Nathan and Brooke.
Enormous.
Perfectly visible.
Impossible to explain away.
The image left no room for denial.
The gray headboard.
Emily’s bedroom.
The crooked wedding portrait in the background.
Brooke’s hand on Nathan’s chest.
And beneath the photograph, in bold black lettering, the sentence Brooke had written herself.
May you like
“Wives like you are only useful for cleaning the sheets for women who actually know how to be chosen.”
The first sound was breaking glass.
