“Do you think he’ll hurt me?” I asked.

“I think you have just learned that your husband was prepared to have you arrested.

That’s enough for me to recommend distance.”

I looked around the library.

My father had chosen the walnut shelves.

His photographs still lined the mantel, including one of him standing beside me on the day I graduated with my accounting degree.

When Preston and I married, he’d called the room too dark.

He had never moved the photographs, but he had stopped looking at them.