The towel was already darkening where the burn had blistered.
Evelyn’s lips pressed together.
She had watched every second.
So had all of them.
Still, she said, “You pulled away and knocked over the food. If you’re injured, it’s because you became hysterical.”
There it was.
The first lie.
Not clumsy. Not panicked.
Prepared.
I looked at Daniel and understood that this had happened before—not the grill, but the rewriting. Every bruise had become my clumsiness. Every insult had become a misunderstanding. Every shattered object had become evidence of my instability.
They had practiced the language until it sounded natural.
Martin cleared his throat.
“Maybe everyone should calm down.”
Daniel turned on him.
“This is a family matter.”
Martin looked away.
A family matter.
That was how cruelty survived in expensive neighborhoods. It wore polished shoes, poured good bourbon, and asked witnesses to respect privacy.
The security camera remained above us, silent and steady.
Daniel’s gaze returned to the control panel inside the mudroom.
I knew what he was thinking.
Erase the footage.
Control the story.
Make me the unstable wife who ruined his barbecue and threatened his guests.