Corey lowered the pen, but he did not put it down.
Lorraine’s cheeks reddened.
“After everything this family has done for you,” she said.
I pushed my chair away from the table.
The legs scraped against the floor.
“I am leaving.”
Standing took more effort than I wanted them to see.
I planted one hand on the table, supported my lower back with the other, and rose slowly.
The baby’s weight pulled heavily against my hips.
Corey looked alarmed, but not because he was worried about me.
He looked at his mother first.
“Dani, sit down,” he said.
“No.”
“We can talk about it.”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
I placed both hands protectively around my swollen belly.
“I said no, and I am going home.”
Lorraine’s expression changed.
The controlled hostess disappeared.
Her eyes sharpened, and her jaw locked.
“Don’t let her leave.”
She did not say Corey’s name.
She did not need to.
Walter moved before my husband did.
He rose from his chair and stepped directly in front of the kitchen exit.
He had spent years driving long-haul routes and carried the heavy build of a man who believed his size settled arguments.
His shoulders filled the narrow space between the counter and the doorway.
Behind him, the short hallway led toward the front of the house.
My purse was on a bench near the door.
My phone was inside it.
The distance suddenly felt enormous.
“Move,” I told him.
Walter did not answer.
He simply stood there.
I looked at Corey.
“Tell him to move.”
Corey’s eyes stayed on the papers.
The pen was still in his hand.
“Dad,” he murmured.
Walter was his stepfather, but Corey had called him Dad for years.
That single word was weak and directionless.
It was not an order.
It was not a warning.
It was barely a protest.
I turned slightly, searching for another path.
The back door was beyond the stove, but Lorraine stood near it.
The kitchen had narrowed around me.
Walter in front.
Lorraine to my right.
The table and chairs behind me.
