“Daddy, are you fighting?”
Isabella’s small voice cut through the tension like a blade wrapped in velvet—soft, innocent, but sharp enough to wound.
Daniel froze for half a second before he softened instantly, his expression shifting as though someone had flipped a switch inside him. He turned fully toward his daughter, his voice warm, steady, careful.
“No, sweetheart,” he said gently. “We’re not fighting. We’re just talking.”
His eyes lifted then—slow, deliberate—locking with Elise’s across the table. The message was silent but unmistakable.
Don’t.
Don’t say anything.
Don’t let her see this.
Not in front of our daughter.
Marian noticed it too. She felt the tension in Daniel’s body even as his hand rested casually near his plate, felt the tightness beneath the calm. Without drawing
