Peter’s face turned a deep, embarrassed red as he glanced at the notebook cover, but he quickly folded his arms across his chest.

“Claire, I know this whole thing looks awful from the outside, but you have to let me explain our side of it,” he said defensively.

“Does it just look awful, Peter, or is it rotten right down to the core?” I demanded, moving closer to him.

“You’re not listening to reason because you haven’t slept and your hormones are completely out of whack,” he said, raising a calming hand.

“Don’t you dare blame my hormones for your cowardice, Peter, so start explaining why you told our son I wanted him shipped off to Joanie’s house,” I spat.