“You called Mary?” I asked.

“Of course I called her,” Trevor said, sliding a white porcelain plate of buttered toast across the island toward me.

“I’d never let anything bad happen to our daughter.”

He spooned two small scoops of raw sugar into my mug and stirred it slowly with a silver spoon.

“I made a terrible mistake in how I handled the discipline last night, but we can’t let one bad evening rip apart seventeen years of marriage,” he said.

He laid the silver spoon on the granite with a soft, clean clink.