He found Stephanie exactly where Emma said she’d be.
Lying comfortably on their king-sized bed.
Watching TV.
Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Silk pajamas.
A tray of half-eaten snacks beside her.
“Why is my daughter downstairs doing chores with a baby strapped to her back?” he demanded.
She barely looked at him.
“I asked her to help. I had a headache.”
“She’s been doing it for ten hours.”
“She’s exaggerating.”
“She can barely stand.”
“Kids are dramatic.”
That was it.
Daniel’s voice hardened.
“She hasn’t eaten all day.”
“She had breakfast.”
“That was ten hours ago.”
Stephanie shrugged.
“She should’ve eaten if she was hungry.”
“How? You told her she couldn’t eat until she finished everything.”
