“Why would you do that, Evelyn?” he asked softly. “We agreed years ago that those files were private.”

“We agreed because you told me it was best for Claire,” I said.

My voice sounded hollow, echoing in my own ears.

“It *was* best for her,” he said. “It still is.”

He reached out and took my hand.

His fingers were warm, but they felt like iron bands around my wrist.

“We built a perfect life, Evie,” he said, his voice dropping to that soothing, hypnotic register he used when he wanted to settle an argument.

“A perfect life,” I repeated.

“Yes. A beautiful home. A beautiful daughter. Why dig up things that don’t matter anymore?”

“Do they not matter to you?” I asked, looking him dead in the eyes. “Or do they just not matter to the person who wrote the rules?”

Richard’s grip on my wrist tightened, just slightly.

It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was enough to let me know I couldn’t pull away.

“You’re overwrought,” he said. “I think you need to lie down.”

“I don’t want to lie down.”

“Evelyn.”