“You are late,” he said, not looking up from his bread.
“The baggage claim was backed up,” I said, setting my laptop bag on the nearest kitchen chair. “Where is Sarah? Her car is not in the driveway.”
Kevin took a bite of the toast, chewed thoroughly, and wiped his fingers with a paper napkin.
“She packed her things on Saturday morning,” he said, his voice smooth and professional, like he was explaining a standard tax deduction to a nervous client. “She decided she did not want to live under our rules anymore.”
My wedding ring felt tight, almost hot against my skin as I gripped the back of the chair. “What rules, Kevin? She has a midterm tomorrow morning.”
“She is an adult, Maureen,” he said, rubbing his temples slowly with his index fingers. “She chose to leave.”
“She would not just leave,” I said, my voice rising slightly before I caught myself. “She left me a message on Friday night. She sounded scared.”
“She was dramatic,” Kevin said, setting the knife down with a soft click against the granite. “She did not want to hear that her tuition payments are our business, not hers.”
“What does that mean?”
