My husband, Scott, was standing by the tall bay window with his arms locked tightly across his chest. He did not walk over to greet me or kiss the forehead of our sleeping son as he usually did every evening.
Instead of a warm welcome, he reached into his pocket and held out a thick yellow envelope toward me. “You need to read the contents of this immediately, Olivia,” he said in a flat voice that lacked any of the warmth I had known for six years.
A cold sensation began to crawl up my spine as I shifted Toby’s weight to reach for the package. “What is going on, and why is everyone looking at me like I committed a crime?” I asked while my heart hammered against my ribs.
“Just open it and stop acting like you have no idea what we are talking about,” Scott replied without looking me in the eye. Adelaide adjusted her expensive pearl necklace and leaned back in her chair with a smirk that suggested she was savoring every moment of my confusion.
