Then Daniel whispered: “Claire, please let me explain.” I did not scream.
I did not cry. I simply pointed toward the stairs. “Ethan is sleeping on the kitchen floor.”
Daniel swallowed. “He was just watching cartoons. He must have dozed off down there.”
I stared at him. “He told me that you ordered him to stay downstairs.”
Rachel frowned. “What?” “You convinced him it was a game. That he had to stay perfectly quiet until you decided to come down.”
Daniel threw up his hands. “You are blowing this entirely out of proportion.”
That sentence hurt worse than the affair itself. I went downstairs, picked up Ethan, and started packing a bag.
Daniel rushed after me. “Where are you taking him?” “To a place where my son can actually sleep in a real bed.”
“He is my son too.” I turned toward him. “Then please explain why he spent his entire night sleeping on the floor while you were busy sleeping with my sister.”
Rachel started crying. “Claire, he told me you two weren’t really together anymore.
He said you were only staying under the same roof for Ethan.” I laughed bitterly.
Daniel suddenly snapped. “Because it’s true! You’re never home. You practically live at that hospital.
I’m the one who is always here with Ethan.” That was when something about his words felt wrong.
Daniel had complained about my night shifts for months. But he was also the person who kept insisting I work them because we “needed the extra money.”
I knelt beside Ethan. “How many times have you played Dad’s game?” He started counting on his fingers.
“A whole lot.” “And does Aunt Rachel always come over?” Ethan glanced nervously at Daniel.
