My mother looked uncomfortable.
But Brianna still looked angry.
“She always played the victim.”
I turned toward her.
“My wife?”
“Yes.”
Brianna rolled her eyes.
“She was always weak. Always sick. Always needing something.”
I stared at her.
Then I smiled.
Not because I was happy.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
“You know what’s interesting?”
Nobody answered.
“I spent four years believing you were taking care of my wife.”
I walked toward the table where my suitcase sat.
“But while I was away, I learned something.”
I opened it.
Inside was a folder.
Theresa’s expression changed.
“What is that?”
I placed it on the table.
“The reason I came home early.”
Nobody moved.
“The reason I didn’t tell anyone I was coming.”
