A gleam flickered in Patrick's eyes.
An almost imperceptible smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
Wilfred returned to the bedroom and quickly packed his things.
There wasn't much, really.
A few changes of clothes, some materials he'd collected over the years on mathematics and racing, and Penelope's daily necessities.
All of it barely filled one suitcase.
When he came downstairs with the luggage, holding Penelope's hand, Hildegarde's eyes flashed with fury the moment she saw them.
She forgot all about treating Patrick's wounds.
"What is this supposed to mean, Wilfred?"
"Yeah, what's going on here?" Patrick chimed in. "Couples fight, but they make up in the same bed. Why are you packing like you're moving out?"
"It doesn't mean anything."
Wilfred looked at Hildegarde's face, twisted slightly with anger.
Once, he had loved that face desperately.
Loved her to the bone.
But now, he felt nothing.
"Don't misunderstand. Everything in here is my personal property. I haven't touched a single thing that belongs to the Pruitts or anything you've bought me over the years."
"And me! This Barbie doll—Daddy saved up to buy it for me."
Penelope poked her little head out, her voice soft but firm.