His gaze flickered—a crack in his composure—before he steadied himself.
I took a slow breath and asked the question that had burned in my chest for two lifetimes.
"Derek, is it because Ethan isn't your flesh and blood that you don't care he's dead?"
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Everyone knew Ethan was from my first marriage. During our year together, Derek had played the perfect stepfather. I knew he was a mama's boy, knew he had an unhealthy obsession with spoiling his sister, but I'd tolerated it. As a remarried woman, I thought if he treated my son well, I could endure the rest.
I never expected the mask to slip so completely.
Derek stood stunned, eyes widening. He shook his head violently, as if trying to dislodge my accusation.
"Sarah, you're hysterical! Don't spout such nonsense!"
But the panic in his eyes betrayed him.
Margaret reacted first. She marched into the kitchen and returned brandishing a knife. The blade caught the light as she pointed it at me.
"Are you signing or not? If you sign, this nightmare ends. If you don't..."
Her eyes dropped to my hand on the table.