Irene’s gaze snapped to the man stepping into her living room with a slim briefcase in his hand, the door still shivering on its hinges from his uninvited entrance, and for a heartbeat she simply stared because the morning had already bled too much shock into her.
Then her arm lifted and she pointed straight at him, her voice cutting through the heavy air like a blade as she said, “What is going on, and in fact, who is this man that just barges into someone's home without knocking?” she asked.
But Daniel did not answer at once — instead he smiled, slow and composed, as if he were in his boardroom and not in a cramped home with tired curtains and children pressed close to their mother.
And then he turned back to the couch with a faint wrinkle of distaste, drew a folded handkerchief from
