“Mark,” I called toward the open doorway.

“Bring your mother her handbag.”

Mark came into the kitchen holding the fake designer bag by its metal-chain strap.

He held it out to her without meeting her eyes.

She took the bag from his hand, her thumb grazing his wrist, but he pulled his arm back and slipped his hand into his back pocket.

“Lily’s in her room,” Mark told me quietly.

“She shut her door and turned out the light.”