The house had been purchased with money from the trust my father left me. I had bought it before Daniel and I met, when I was thirty-two and still grieving the man who had raised me.

What he didn’t know was how the trust had been structured.

My father had been a careful man.

He had spent his entire life believing that love did not mean handing someone a weapon and hoping they wouldn’t use it against you.

Three years ago, when Daniel and I married, Mara had insisted on a prenuptial agreement.

Daniel had laughed when I mentioned it.

“Do you really think I’m going to divorce you over money?”

I had smiled.

“No.”

He had kissed my forehead.

“Then why bother?”

Because my father had taught me never to confuse someone’s affection with their character.

I signed the agreement.

So did Daniel.

And for six years, I had never needed to look at it again.

Until that morning.

At 7:40, I heard footsteps upstairs.

A drawer slammed.

Then another.

Daniel appeared at the top of the staircase wearing yesterday’s shirt.

His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were narrowed.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

I looked at him.

“You were sleeping.”

“My mother is coming at noon.”

“I know.”

“I told you to prepare the guest room.”

I took a slow sip of coffee.

“No.”

He stopped.

“What?”

“I said no.”

He walked down the stairs.“You’re still doing this?”

“I’m finished doing anything for Gloria.”

He laughed under his breath.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“No. I’m finally believable.”

He stared at me.

For the first time, I saw something flicker behind his anger.

Uncertainty.

Then it vanished.

He crossed the kitchen and dropped something on the counter.

A small black makeup bag.

“Get dressed,” he said. “My mother will be here at noon. Freshen up and smile.”

I looked at the bag.

Then at him.

“Did you seriously bring me makeup?”

“She hates seeing you looking miserable.”

I almost laughed.

“She hates seeing me at all.”