But before I could answer, she crossed the room in two strides and slapped me hard across the face. My head snapped to the side, my cheek exploding with pain.
“Get a grip,” she said icily. “Your husband is dead. Stop humiliating yourself.”
I swayed, dizzy, barely staying upright.
“Mom, don’t be angry with her,” Nathaniel said softly, wearing Harold’s face like a mask. “She’s grieving. We look alike—it’s natural she’d get confused.”
Confused.
Not wronged. Not hurt. Just confused.
Then he pulled Delilah into his arms. She melted against him like she belonged there, one hand fisting in his shirt. Over his shoulder, she met my gaze and smiled.
Not kindly.
Triumphantly.
Lucinda’s voice cracked like a whip. “Eleanor. Kneel down and apologize.”
I stared at her, stunned. “What did you say?”
“Get on your knees,” she repeated. “You insulted your sister-in-law. Make it right.”
Blood rushed out of my face. “She isn’t my—”
I stopped myself. There was no point. Not a single person in this room was on my side.
Nathaniel looked at me with false concern. “Eleanor, you’ve been through a lot. You shouldn’t act like this. You really need professional help.”