“Because I make noise at night,” she whispered. “And I bother her.”
“And what did you eat today?”
She hesitated.
“Leftovers. Sometimes Mrs. Carter gives me a little more when she’s not looking.”
Mrs. Carter. The housekeeper.
A slow, controlled anger rose inside him.
He waited until Emily drifted into a restless sleep — waking at every small sound — before quietly locking his bedroom door from the inside.
Then he went downstairs.
Vanessa was in the master suite, standing in front of the mirror in a silk robe, applying night cream. She looked polished. Effortless.
When she saw him, she smiled.
“Jonathan, you’re home early—”
“Why was Emily sleeping on the kitchen floor?” he asked.
Vanessa blinked — just for a fraction of a second — before recovering.
“Oh, please. She must have gone down for a snack and fallen asleep. You know how kids are.”
“She was cold. She’s underweight.”
Vanessa sighed softly. “You’re exhausted. Jet lag makes everything dramatic. She’s fine.”
“I’m taking her to the hospital first thing in the morning.”
A brief flicker crossed Vanessa’s face.
“Of course,” she said smoothly. “If that makes you feel better.”
As if it were about him.