tired to host Sunday lunch. In the Calloway family, disappointment was not a feeling. It was a tool, and they had all learned to use it with precision.
He shifted sideways in the doorway. Not enough to block her. Just enough to remind her that he could.
Claire held her son closer and looked at her husband steadily.
“You said divorce,” she said.
“I did.”
“Then move.”
Something crossed his face, a flicker of uncertainty, the first real crack in the performance. He glanced at the baby, and she thought she saw him remember, in some distant, calculating part of his mind, that the hallway camera by the nursery still recorded motion. Or perhaps he simply had not expected her to call his bluff. Ryan had always been better at issuing ultimatums than receiving them.
He moved aside.
She rolled the suitcase past him, through the hallway, back through the
