Chapter 7
“I’ve signed the divorce papers.”
The words landed in the room like something dropped from a very great height.
Silence followed complete, airless, the kind that comes when people have been caught so thoroughly that even their reflexes fail them. Dante and Margaret stood in the living room doorway, still carrying the hospital on them the guilt, the exhaustion, the smell of antiseptic and stared at the woman they had tried to kill.
Zara stood by her suitcase, Lilly’s hand in hers. Her face was pale. Her eyes were dry. She had cried everything out last night, alone in the dark while her daughter slept, and what remained this morning was something quieter and considerably more dangerous than tears.
“Don’t panic,” she said, before either of them could speak. “I don’t want a sing
