The family dinner was scheduled for Saturday.
Blake's mother, Claire Stanton, had sent a message saying that everyone needed to be there and clear the air.
At first, I had no intention of going. Blake spent nearly twenty minutes in the walk-in closet deciding what I should wear. Eventually, he pulled an ivory cardigan from one of the shelves.
The moment he saw it, his expression tightened. He folded it once and dropped it into the bag at his feet.
"We're getting rid of this."
"You're throwing it out?"
"Yes."
"That cardigan was expensive."
"It never suited you."
He turned back to the closet and chose a pale blue shirtdress instead. Then he handed it to me.
"This one."
I took it from him.
*****
When we arrived at Stanton Villa, the last of the daylight was fading behind the tree
