He looked down at me, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion, or perhaps a very good imitation of it.

“Evelyn, what is going on here?” he asked.

“We are going to the diner,” I said, my voice rising.

“I need to check my study,” Richard said, his eyes narrowing as he looked past my shoulder toward the hallway.

He knew.

He knew the lock on his filing cabinet was weak, or he knew he had left something vulnerable.

“Go ahead,” Claire said.

Before he could move, she dropped the folder into her open canvas backpack on the chair and zipped it shut in one swift motion.

She grabbed her car keys from the table.

“Let’s go, Mom,” she said.

She used the word ‘Mom’ with a fierce, protective emphasis.

Richard reached out to grab her arm, but I stepped into his path again, my hand pressing against his cold leather coat.

“Don’t touch her,” I said.

He froze, his face hardening into a expression I had never seen in twenty years of marriage.

The mask of the gentle, provider husband was completely gone.