Behind her, her husband, Mark, emerged from the shadows of the hall. He didn’t smile. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, exuding a casual arrogance that always set my teeth on edge. He looked at me as if I were a piece of furniture he was deciding whether to keep.

“A surprise? Emily, you know I don’t care for surprises,” I said, folding the paper carefully. I set it beside my plate of half-eaten toast. My coffee had gone lukewarm, but I took a sip anyway, buying time.