Then his voice came from somewhere deep and unfamiliar.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Claire dropped the iron. It hit the floor and wobbled upright before tipping over. Her expression shifted quickly—shock, fear, then a practiced smile.
“Daniel, you’re home early. This is a misunderstanding. Evan exaggerates. You know how sensitive he’s been since—”
Evan ran to his father and clung to him with desperate strength. Daniel held him carefully, afraid of hurting him further.
“Buddy,” Daniel whispered. “What did she do?”
Evan didn’t answer at first. He nodded toward the iron. Then toward Claire. Finally, his voice cracked.
“She wouldn’t let me cry about Mom.”
The name—Rachel—hit Daniel like a punch. The accident. The rain. The sirens. The way grief still woke him at night.
He lifted Evan’s shirt gently.
His son’s back looked like a battlefield.
“My God…” Daniel breathed.
Claire stepped forward, palms out, performing calm.
“You’re overreacting. He hurts himself. I’ve seen it. He wants attention. Since the nanny left, he’s been worse.”
“The nanny?” Daniel asked flatly.
“I fired her,” Claire snapped. “She didn’t respect my authority. You told me to manage the house.”