It happened on Sunday evening.
Not because of anything dramatic.
That was the thing Julia kept coming back to afterward; it wasn't a headline or a photograph or something Vanessa had done. It wasn't an argument or a misunderstanding or any of the things she'd been bracing for.
It was a Sunday evening.
Nora was in bed. Daniel was on the couch. Julia was in the chair across from him with her book open on her lap and the particular quiet of a weekend ending around them.
Ordinary.
Good, even.
And that was exactly the problem.
She'd been sitting there for twenty minutes trying to read and not reading and watching him instead the way he looked in her living room, the way he'd learned to occupy her space without taking it over, the way Nora's drawings were on the fridge and his jacket wa
