MY HUSBAND LOVE ME TOO LATE

Chapter 14: What Is Margaret Hiding?

The handle turned.

Emma pressed Lily's face into her shoulder and braced, every muscle in her body coiled tight, ready for anything.

The door swung open Henry's flashlight beam hit her square in the eyes.

"It's us." Henry stepped inside fast, two men in dark jackets behind him, fanning out to check the corners, the stairwell, the shadows behind stacked pallets. "We circled the block twice. Whoever dropped that car off was already gone before we got here."

Emma's knees nearly buckled with relief. "You're sure? You're absolutely sure there's no one else in here?"

"We're sure nobody's in this building but us," Henry said, his voice steady in a way that was meant to steady her too. "Let's get her home. Now, before anyone changes their mind about staying away."

Lucas was waiting at the curb, out of the car before it fully stopped, and the second Emma stepped into the light he had Lily wrapped in both arms, sobbing into her hair, saying her name over and over like he needed to hear it out loud to believe it was real.

They didn't talk much on the drive back. There wasn't room for words yet. Lily fell asleep against Emma's chest before they'd even left the block, her small hand still fisted in the front of Emma's shirt even in sleep, like letting go might make her disappear again.

Sophia was waiting on the front steps when they pulled in, mascara smudged, hands twisting together. She rushed down before the car doors had finished opening.

"Is she okay? Let me see her." Sophia reached for Lily before Emma had even climbed out.

"She's fine," Emma said, shifting Lily onto her own hip instead, angling her body just slightly away. "She's just tired."

"I was so scared," Sophia said, pressing a hand to her chest, voice trembling in exactly the right places. "The whole house was scared. I didn't sleep at all."

Emma said nothing. She carried Lily upstairs herself, tucked her in, sat on the edge of the bed until her breathing evened out into real sleep. When she finally came back down, the house had gone quiet in that strange, brittle way houses do after a crisis — too calm, like everyone was holding something in.

Henry had already called it in to a private contact on the force. A report was filed. Detectives would "look into it" from a downtown office that felt a thousand miles from Lily's bedroom. No sirens at the house. No reporters camped on the lawn. Just a case number scrawled on a card and a promise that someone would follow up when they had leads.

It didn't feel like enough. It also felt like all they had.

By the next evening, Margaret had decided the family needed a dinner.

"The chef has been preparing since noon," she announced, sweeping into the living room like a woman who would not be argued with, her cane tapping sharp against the floor with every step. "Roast lamb. That soufflé Lily likes. We are all going to sit at one table and eat like a family, because God knows we could use it."

"Grandma, I don't think tonight's the night for—" Lucas started.

"It is exactly the night," Margaret said. "We almost lost that little girl. I want to see everyone I love breathing and eating dinner in front of me. Is that so much to ask, after everything?"

Nobody argued with Margaret when her voice went like that. Even Victor, who'd been oddly absent since the warehouse, had apparently agreed to stay away tonight Margaret's one condition, delivered in a tone that left no room for negotiation.

The dining room smelled like rosemary and butter when Emma came down, Lily freshly bathed and glued to her side, still not willing to be more than an arm's length from her mother. Claire was already seated, quiet, watching the door like she was bracing for something. Sophia stood near the sideboard in a dress a little too elegant for a family dinner, smiling the practiced smile she wore like armor.

"There she is," Sophia said warmly, as if she and Emma were old friends. "Emma, sit, sit. You've had the worst two days. Let me get you something to drink."

Emma pulled out a chair for Lily instead of answering, settling her in, smoothing her napkin, buying a few seconds before she had to look at Sophia again.

The first plates hadn't even been served when Sophia turned to Margaret, voice light and helpful. "Margaret, should Emma go check on the kitchen? Make sure the soufflé didn't fall? I know she likes to keep busy, and heaven knows the staff could use an extra set of eyes tonight."

Emma's hand froze on the back of Lily's chair.

Margaret's eyes cut sideways, sharp as glass. "Excuse me?"

"I only meant" Sophia's smile didn't waver. "Emma's so good with things like that. Hosting. Details. I just thought it might help her feel useful, after everything"

"Emma is not staff in this house," Margaret said, each word cold and precise, cutting clean through the room. "She is my grandson's wife. She sat in a warehouse last night pulling a rope off her own daughter's wrists while the rest of us paced a hallway wringing our hands. She will sit at this table and eat like everyone else, and you will not suggest otherwise again."

The room went silent. Even the clink of silverware stopped. Lily looked up, sensing the shift in the air.

Sophia's face colored. "I didn't mean to imply—"

"You meant exactly what you said," Margaret snapped.

"Grandma." Lucas's voice cut through, tired, placating. "Let's just let's not do this tonight. Please. Can we just have the dinner you wanted?"

Margaret held Sophia's gaze a moment longer, something dangerous simmering behind her eyes, before she exhaled through her nose and sat back down. "Fine. For Lily."

Sophia recovered fast, sliding into her seat with a soft, apologetic laugh, dabbing at nothing under her eye. "I really am sorry, Emma. That came out wrong. I just want tonight to be nice for everyone." She reached over and squeezed Emma's hand, uninvited, warm and firm. "You've been through so much. I want you to know I don't hold anything against you. Whatever's happened between us, I'm ready to move past it."

Emma pulled her hand back, slow, deliberate. "I don't need you to forgive me for anything, Sophia. I haven't done anything to you."

Something flickered across Sophia's face there and gone, the same flash Emma had caught in the bedroom doorway weeks ago, sharp and satisfied before it dissolved back into softness.

"Of course," Sophia said smoothly. "Of course you haven't."

Dinner moved forward in fits and starts after that, Lily chattering quietly about her toy horse, Margaret asking soft questions to keep her talking, keep her mind off the night before. For a few minutes, it almost felt normal, the candlelight and the smell of roast lamb doing their best to paper over everything underneath.

Then Sophia turned to Claire, brightening. "Do you remember the summer house? God, we were what, seventeen?"

Claire's mouth twitched into the first real smile Emma had seen on her in weeks. "You fell off the dock trying to impress that boy from the marina."

"I did not fall, I dove dramatically."

"You screamed the whole way down. I think I still have it on an old camera somewhere."

They both laughed, easy and unguarded, the way people laugh when they've known each other since before either of them learned to lie well. Emma watched them, something cold settling low in her stomach. Claire had told her, weeks ago, that she barely remembered Sophia from before. That they'd crossed paths a handful of times, nothing close.

This didn't look like a handful of times. This looked like history.

"You two go back further than I realized," Emma said carefully, keeping her voice light.

Claire's smile dropped a fraction. "It was a long time ago."

"You said you barely knew each other."

"I" Claire glanced at Sophia, then back at her plate, suddenly very interested in her food. "I didn't want to make it complicated. It didn't seem important."

"Complicated how?"

"Emma." Lucas's voice held a warning now, quiet, tired. "Not tonight. Please, not tonight."

Before Emma could push further, Margaret set her fork down. Not gently the sound cracked against the china, sharp enough that Lily flinched in her seat and reached instinctively for Emma's sleeve.

"I have had enough," Margaret said, rising from her chair so fast it nearly tipped backward. Her hands were shaking, though whether from fury or something else, Emma couldn't tell. "Enough secrets at this table. Enough smiling at each other with knives behind your backs while a child almost died two nights ago. I am an old woman and I am tired of pretending I don't see it."

"Grandma" Lucas started, half-rising.

"I'm not finished being angry, Lucas, so don't start." Margaret's eyes swept the table once, landing hardest on Sophia, then Claire, before softening only when they reached Emma. "Emma. Walk me to my room."

It wasn't a request.

Emma rose immediately, murmuring for Lily to stay with her father, and followed Margaret out of the dining room, the old woman's hand gripping her arm harder than Emma expected. Behind them, the table had gone dead silent, the kind of silence that meant everyone was waiting for the door to close so they could start talking about what had just happened.

Margaret didn't speak until they'd reached the top of the stairs, her breathing a little uneven, her grip still tight.

"Something is wrong in this house," Margaret said quietly, once they were alone in the hallway, the dinner noise fading below them. "Something worse than Victor. Worse than Sophia's little games at that table."

"What do you mean?"

Margaret stopped outside her bedroom door. Her eyes, usually so sharp and steady, looked frightened for the first time since Emma had known her.

"I've kept a secret for a very long time," she said. "For Lucas's sake. For this family's sake. I didn't think it mattered anymore, not after all these years." She pressed a trembling hand to Emma's cheek. "But after last night after what almost happened to that child I don't think I can carry it alone anymore."

Emma's pulse quickened. "Margaret. What secret?"

Margaret opened her mouth to answer.

Downstairs, glass shattered a scream, high and sharp, tearing through the quiet house.

Claire's voice, screaming Sophia's name.