Chapter 1 - Get Out
The slap landed on my eight-month-old daughter's hand before I understood Lauren had actually done it.
Emma screamed.
The sound tore through my parents' Thanksgiving dining room and killed every conversation at once.
I ripped my daughter back into my arms. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Lauren stared at me, then laughed like I was making a scene over spilled gravy. "Relax. She grabbed my necklace."
"She's a baby."
Emma buried her face against my chest, sobbing so hard her little body shook. The rust-orange dress I had picked for her first Thanksgiving was wrinkled beneath my hands.
Around the table, fifteen adults suddenly found reasons not to look at me.
Mom lowered her eyes. Dad cleared his throat. Aunt Denise stared at her plate.
Lauren rolled her eyes. "This is why she's spoiled. Nobody tells her no."
A chair scraped across the hardwood.
James stood.
My husband had been home from deployment for three weeks. He had been quiet through dinner, watching more than talking, smiling every time Emma reached for him.
Now his face had gone still.
"Get out," he said.
Lauren blinked. "What?"
"Right now."
She actually laughed again. "You're throwing me out of my parents' house?"
James stepped around the table, not fast, not threatening. Just certain.
"You struck my daughter. You're leaving."
Mom jumped up. "James, please. It's Thanksgiving."
He turned toward her.
"So was she only worth protecting tomorrow?"
No one answered.
Lauren grabbed her purse. "Fine. Enjoy your little military power trip."
She pushed past me toward the hallway, then stopped beside Mom.
For half a second, I thought she might apologize.
Instead, she leaned close and whispered loudly enough for me to hear.
"You better tell them before he finds out himself."
Mom's face went white.
James looked at me.
I looked at my mother.
May you like
"Tell us what?"
Mom's hands began to shake.
