His anger hadn't cooled one degree.
"Fern Lambert, are you out of your mind?"
"We agreed on a story. You don't get to change it now."
"If this gets out, how am I supposed to show my face?"
I stared at him. A cold smile carved itself across my lips.
"Show your face?"
"Did you ever once think about how my father shows his?"
Edgar frowned, looking at me like I was being unreasonable.
"What does your father have to do with this?"
"We're talking about me here!"
"Everything!"
My voice nearly cracked from the effort of holding it together.
"Don't forget, he's the one who bought this house for me. He is the owner of this home."
"And today, all he did was use a plate. One plate. And your mother, his peer, and you, his junior, humiliated him to his face. Called him a thief. How do you think that made him feel?"
Edgar's expression went rigid, but not a flicker of guilt crossed it.
He fell back on the same tired script.
"Why do you always think the worst of me? I was just teaching Dad some house rul—"
"Enough."
I raised my hand to cut him off.
"Spare me the noble excuses."
I shot him one last icy look, then turned, one hand bracing my belly, and walked to the bedroom safe to get the property deed.