"Then perhaps you should be grateful he's willing to share."
From the dining room came Trevor's uncomfortable laugh.
Diane said nothing.
Lauren stared at her plate.
Amelia's stomach cramped again.
She pressed one hand against it.
For a moment, she thought she might be sick.
Then she reached toward the bowl.
Her fingers picked up one hard brown piece.
She examined it.
It smelled strange.
Nothing like the food her father cooked.
Nothing like the macaroni and cheese her mother used to make before she died.
Vanessa tapped one expensive heel against the floor.
"Well?"
Amelia closed her eyes.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Then she put the piece into her mouth.
Biscuit whined.
It was a low, unhappy sound.
The dog moved closer and pressed his nose beneath Amelia's hand, nudging her away from the bowl.
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
"Even the dog has better manners."
Amelia began crying.
Quietly.
She had learned that crying loudly made Vanessa angrier.
Behind the kitchen counter, almost hidden beside a ceramic jar filled with wooden spoons, a small white camera pointed toward the feeding station.
It had been installed three months earlier so Amelia's father could check on Biscuit whenever the family traveled.
A tiny indicator glowed on its front.
Vanessa had forgotten about it.
Or perhaps she had never considered what it might capture.
At precisely 5:42 p.m., the front door opened.
A suitcase rolled across the hardwood floor.
For one second, nobody in the kitchen noticed.
Then a man's voice called from the hallway.
"Amelia?"
Vanessa froze.
The color drained from her face.
She turned slowly toward the doorway.
Her husband stood at the end of the hall, wearing a tailored navy suit and carrying a black travel suitcase.
Daniel Carter was thirty-nine years old, a tall, athletic Black American businessman with rich brown skin, neatly faded black hair, and a short, carefully maintained beard. He had the exhausted expression of a man who had just completed a long journey, but his dark eyes were wide with disbelief.
He was supposed to be in Chicago.
He was supposed to be gone for seven days.
Instead, he stood inside his own house staring at his eight-year-old daughter kneeling beside the dog's food bowl.
Daniel's hand loosened.
The suitcase fell onto its side.
For several seconds, he did not move.
Then his eyes traveled from Amelia's tear-streaked face to the scattered kibble.
From the kibble to Vanessa's expensive shoes.
From Vanessa to the adults sitting silently in the dining room.
His expression changed.
Not into ordinary anger.
Into something much colder.
"Amelia?"
The little girl lifted her head.
For an instant, she seemed unable to believe what she was seeing.
Then her entire face changed.
"Daddy?"
Daniel dropped to his knees beside her.
She scrambled toward him.
He caught her against his chest.
Her small arms wrapped around his neck so tightly that he could barely breathe.
"Daddy!"