“Did you really go to a hotel with her?”
The porch became silent.
Grant looked at me.
“You showed her the pictures?”
“No,” Lily said.
“I heard you.”
He had forgotten she was standing in the hallway when he accused me of overreacting.
He had forgotten children could listen even when adults pretended they were invisible.
“That is an adult situation,” he said.
“You made it our situation when Mom had to pack us,” she replied.
My mother covered her mouth.
For a moment, Grant had no answer.
Then he turned his embarrassment into anger.
“This is what I was afraid of,” he told my parents.
“She is turning the kids against me.”
I felt Lily tense beside me.
I wanted to defend her, to list every lie and force my parents to acknowledge what was happening.
Instead, I kept my voice level.
“No one is turning them against you.
They are watching you.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“You cannot take my children and disappear.”
“I sent you a message before I left.
You knew where we were going.
You just admitted that you called ahead.”
My father’s eyes flickered toward Grant.
It was the first crack.
Grant recovered quickly.
“She is not staying here.
We agreed that sending her home was best for everyone.”
I looked at my parents.
“When did you agree?”
My mother lowered her gaze.
My father answered.
“Grant called while you were packing.”
That explained the look in his eyes when I said I was going to my parents’ house.
He had not stepped aside because he respected my decision.
He had stepped aside because he believed there would be nowhere for me to go.
“You knew I was coming,” I said.
“You knew the children were with me, and you still locked the door.”
My mother began to cry.
“Your father thought it would force you to talk to Grant.”
“By leaving three children outside at night?”
“We knew he was on his way,” my father said.
Grant reached for my suitcase.
I placed my foot against it.
“Do not touch my things.”
His hand stopped.
“You are making this worse.”
“No.
I am documenting it.”
His eyes went to my coat pocket.
I saw the instant he understood.
“Are you recording us?”
I did not answer.
Grant lunged toward my pocket, but my father caught his arm.
