That’s when I realized she’d rehearsed this. The confidence. The narrative. The way she positioned herself as the reasonable one before anyone else could speak.
I took a slow sip of coffee. “Dad,” I said, “can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”
Victoria laughed again, like I was adorable. “There’s no need for secrecy. Families don’t keep secrets.”
My father hesitated, and I saw it—the moment he tried to choose peace over truth the way he’d done for fifteen years.
I didn’t let him.
“Dad,” I repeated, gentler this time, “just a minute.”
Maybe it was the tone. Maybe it was the way I didn’t look at Victoria when I said it. Either way, he nodded.
“I’ll be right back,” he told Victoria.
She waved a hand. “Of course. Paige, take the bags inside. Put mine in the primary bedroom.”
Paige grabbed a suitcase and headed for my front door like she lived here.
I stepped sideways, blocking the entry.
Paige blinked up at me, surprised. “What are you doing?”
“Not letting you in,” I said, still calm.
Victoria’s sunglasses tilted toward us. “Bonnie, don’t be dramatic.”
“Paige,” I said, keeping my eyes on hers, “go sit in the car.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”