“You called her studio an expensive hobby room.”

“I was frustrated.”

“You valued seventeen years of work at one dollar.”

“I was wrong.”

Rebecca stopped, and the admission stayed in the room. “Mr. Mercer, were you wrong about the market value, or were you wrong about your wife?”

Daniel’s face changed. The practiced attorney disappeared. For a moment he was simply a man who had spent years measuring his worth by whether someone else looked smaller beside him.