The word came out strained, pulled from somewhere deeper than irritation.
Mrs. Taylor didn’t flinch. She sat there, composed, her chin lifted slightly as though she had been waiting for that reaction.
Matthew ran a hand over his face, pacing once behind his chair before turning away completely.
“I said we’ll talk later,” he muttered, his voice tighter now, less controlled.
“And I said I need answers now,” she replied, her tone smooth but unyielding.
Ava didn’t move.
Her fork hovered over her plate for a second before she set it down gently.
Matthew let out a breath that sounded like it had been sitting in his chest for days.
“I’m not doing this,” he said finally.
Then he turned and walked out. The echo of his footsteps faded down the hallway.
Silence settled over the dining table
