Soon enough, he arrived home and I served dinner. As I moved around the table, I could feel his eyes trailing after me. Every step, every turn, he watched. I didn’t know if Mrs. Sinclair had noticed the way her husband had been acting lately, but I was tired of pretending I didn’t see it.
So I finally lifted my head and met his gaze.
It caught him off guard. He jerked his eyes away instantly, clearing his throat before turning to Pamela and asking about her day—as if nothing had happened.
Good. Let him pretend.
After they finished eating, I cleared the table. But again, I felt that stare burning into my back. I turned and there he was.
The moment our eyes met, he smiled.
“Oh, how has your day been, Clara?” he asked, voice dripping with something sour.
Something inside me refused to
