Emma stood in the doorway, her eyes burning with the intensity of a mother’s wrath. Mark was frozen, halfway to Lily’s bed, and the look of surprise on his face was almost comical—almost, if the reality of the situation hadn’t been so dire. Lily’s wide eyes darted between her parents, searching for assurance or escape.
“Emma, what are you doing?” Mark’s voice was deceptively calm, a thin veneer trying to veil the situation’s gravity. But Emma could see through him now, a stranger wearing the skin of the man she once loved.
“What am I doing?” Emma spat, her voice cold. “What are you doing, Mark? What’s going on here?”
