Anthony was clearly on edge all day. He brought that bad mood with him to work, and when he finally came home, he had to face Billy—still clinging to him like a piece of gum on his shoe. He'd hoped to come home, relax a bit, maybe lie down and enjoy some attention from his wife.
But I, after spending half the night eavesdropping, had caught a cold from the draft and was lying in bed with a fever.
Mia was curled up beside me, reading a storybook to keep me company.
Hungry and irritable, Anthony cast a bloodshot glare in our direction.
"No dinner?"
I answered calmly, "There's only mashed potatoes and some chicken nuggets."
"You know I hate chicken."
I didn't reply. I knew that, of course. I'd made it on purpose, just to mess with him, to rattle him.
Anthony let out a cold laugh. "You
