“Oh, please,” Sara said, getting up from the couch. She crossed her arms in front of her. “Don’t expect sympathy from me at this hour. You couldn’t even be bothered to call and tell me why there’s blood on the driveway, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Wendy thought you’d been killed. She was sick with panic.”

“But you weren’t.”

“Come out of the hallway,” she said. “Your voice will carry upstairs. Your daughter is asleep.”

He stepped into the living room and she could see him gather himself in the same way he would in court.

“Did you think I was dead?” he asked. “Were you worried sick?”

“Yes, I was worried,” she admitted. “I didn’t know what to think. I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re not my husband. You’re not the man I married. You’re not the man I fell in love with. Who are you? I don’t understand what’s happened to you, Steve. I don’t get it.”

“You never did,” he said with a touch of tragic bitterness in his voice that only made Sara angrier. He would bring out his flair for the dramatic to try to make her feel guilty, to try to pretend he was the wounded one.

“What does that even mean?” she asked. “Are we going back again to your tragic, terrible childhood? I’ve been telling you for fourteen years what a remarkable person I think you are for making it through and making yourself into the human being you are—or were, at least.

“Enough with that, Steve. You’re a grown man. Stop playing the sympathy card already. Stop trading on your mother’s misfortunes. The statute of limitations has run out.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he muttered. “Miss Perfect Family.”

“I’m not apologizing because my mother wasn’t an IV drug user,” Sara said. “It’s not my fault you had a rotten childhood. You wanted my perfect family, remember? You married my perfect family. We had our own perfect family. Now you’re the one destroying it.”

“You’ve always been jealous of the time I spend on the Thomas Center—”

“Don’t start with that,” she warned him. “Don’t put this on me. I’m not taking it. I’m not the bad guy. You want to volunteer? That’s great. You’re a humanitarian. But you don’t do it at the expense of your family. You don’t do it at the expense of your daughter or me. Marriage is supposed to be a partnership. You’re more devoted to Don.”

“That’s not true—”

“Really?” she said, pretending shock. “Who did you call this morning?”

“He’s my attorney.”

“And did you ask him to call your wife and explain to her why your blood is on the driveway and why you’re missing?”

“Maybe I was embarrassed.”