He moved as if to grab the papers, to reclaim control, and she stepped back. "You always bend for Fiona," she said, voice low and steady. "You've spoiled her rotten. You've made excuses for her since she was small. I can't even recognize the woman she's become."
"You're a horrible father," she said suddenly, the words sharp and clean. "And you're a terrible husband."
His hand rose before thought could stop it—an ugly, reflexive motion meant to intimidate. Emilia did not flinch. She met his eyes and, with a calm that made the room feel colder, she said the thing she had been holding like a blade.
"I know what you did twenty‑nine years ago."
For a second he looked as if the air had been knocked out of him. The hand that had been raised trembled and fell to his side. "What are you talking about?" he whispered, the bravado gone.
