His sister Laura covered her mouth with one hand.

Tom Miller looked down at his shoes.

I recognized the smooth, fast shift in Daniel’s tone.

This wasn’t a sudden burst of anger.

He was building a public story to justify his coming departure, painting himself as the protective father defending his child from a hostile stepmother.

“Daniel, you were standing thirty feet away by the grill,” I said.

“You could not possibly see the top of these stairs.”

“You’ll apologize to my daughter right now for pushing her, or you can pack your bags and leave this house,” Daniel said.