Chapter 1 - The Portrait in the Trash
The first thing Delaney saw was her mother’s face beneath a coffee-stained paper towel.
The silver-framed portrait had been shoved halfway into the decorative trash bin beside the family portrait wall, as casually as an old magazine.
For one disorienting second, Delaney stood in the doorway of the living room in her father’s house in McLean, Virginia, unable to understand what she was looking at.
Then she saw Marissa holding another framed photograph.
“Put that down.”
Marissa glanced over her shoulder.
She had already removed four pictures from the wall. Pale rectangles marked the places where they had hung for years: Delaney at six sitting on her mother’s lap, Grant and Elise at their twentieth anniversary dinner, the three of them standing beneath cherry blossoms near the Tidal Basin.
Marissa’s mouth tightened.
“I’m reorganizing.”
“That’s my mother.”
“I’m aware.”
Delaney crossed the room and reached into the bin.
Marissa caught her ponytail from behind.
Pain snapped across Delaney’s scalp.
She spun on instinct, striking Marissa across the cheek hard enough to make her stumble.
“Don’t touch me!”
Marissa shoved her backward.
Delaney hit the edge of a side table, sending a ceramic bowl crashing onto the rug.
Then both women went for the portrait.
Delaney caught Marissa’s wrist. Marissa grabbed her sweater. Their shoes skidded over scattered trash as they shoved and grappled, neither willing to release the frame.
“She’s dead, Delaney!” Marissa shouted. “Why do you still have her picture hanging in this house?”
Something inside Delaney went cold.
She yanked the portrait free and pressed it against her chest.
“Because she lived here for twenty-four years.”
Marissa stepped toward her again.
That was when Grant appeared in the hallway.
He took in the overturned bin, the broken bowl, his daughter’s disheveled hair and Marissa advancing toward her.
“Enough!”
He pulled Delaney behind him.
Marissa barely had time to turn before Grant slapped her.
The sound was sharp and ugly.
Marissa struck the sofa arm and stared at him.
Grant’s breathing came hard.
“If you ever lay a hand on my daughter again, you’re out of this house.”
Delaney expected Marissa to scream.
Instead, her stepmother slowly straightened.
Then she smiled.
Not angrily.
Almost pityingly.
“Fine,” Marissa said. “Then ask your daughter why she’s still worshipping a marriage that didn’t exist.”
Grant’s face changed.
Delaney noticed it immediately.
Marissa looked directly at her.
“Ask your dad who he was sleeping with while your mom was still alive.”
Delaney turned toward Grant.
He didn’t deny it.
He only whispered her name.
That frightened her more than Marissa’s accusation.
“Delaney—”
She backed away.
“Tell me she’s lying.”
Grant opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Delaney dropped the broken piece of molding she had been clutching, turned, and ran from the room with her mother’s portrait pressed against her chest.
Behind her, Grant called after her.
But one thought drowned out everything else.
May you like
Her father had been given the easiest question in the world.
And he had been unable to answer it.
