The room went silent.
I stood.
“You heard your mother say accidents happen on highways.”
“Yes.”
“Knowing I drive hundreds of miles every month.”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing.”
“I told her it was sick.”
“Did you tell me?”
“No.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
Then something became very clear.
Maybe Edgar had not planted the snake.
But he had protected the person who did.
For years.
I walked toward the bedroom.
He followed.
“Where are you going?”
“Packing.”
“Nora.”
“I’m leaving.”
“This is your house.”
“I know.”
“Then I’ll leave.”
I stopped.
That surprised me.
He looked destroyed.
“I’ll go.”