I set it in the middle of the table.
Daniel carved.
Renee poured wine. For herself and Daniel. Not for me. She’d stopped offering me wine months ago.
The kids were unusually quiet.
Chloe kept looking at her plate.
Caleb kept looking at his father.
I noticed. I didn’t understand.
At exactly 6:18 p.m., Daniel pushed back his chair.
I remember the time because the microwave clock was right behind his head. Green numbers. 6:18.
“Mom?” he said.
I looked up.
He glanced at Renee before he spoke.
Just for a second.
She nodded. Very slightly.
“When are you finally planning to get your own place?” Daniel said.
The room went silent.
My granddaughter lowered her fork.
My grandson stared at his plate.
Neither of them looked surprised.
That hurt more than the question itself.
They’d heard this conversation before.
In the car. At bedtime. Through the walls.
