Victor clasped his hands behind his back. “Terrible tragedy. But we’ll handle her care from here. You’ve been away. You must be exhausted.”
“I’m staying.”
“She is my daughter,” he snapped, mask slipping for the first time. “And you were never here enough to protect her.”
I moved close enough to see the pulse beating in his neck.
“That’s interesting,” I said quietly. “Because none of you look heartbroken. You look inconvenienced.”
Around us, nurses pretended not to listen.
I studied each brother in turn. Dominic defiant. Grant angry. Ian amused. Kyle restless. Felix expressionless. Evan avoiding eye contact. Then Mason, the youngest.
His hands shook so badly the coffee in his paper cup rippled over the lid.
Fear lives differently than grief. I know the difference.
I reached back into Tessa’s room and took the chart from the foot of her bed. Then I looked at Victor and read loudly enough for all of them to hear.
