"So... you rejected the proposal and Daniel snapped? Is that why you were crying?" Claire's voice was flat as she thumbed the speakerphone, dropping the device onto the table like a spent shell casing.
Daniel kept his gaze anchored to the far wall. It wasn't rage or shame—just grief wrapped in a thin, expensive layer of pride. He had so little time left with her, a handful of sand slipping through his fingers, and the rejection had cut deeper than he cared to admit.
"Is Daniel home yet?" Isabella's voice crackled through the line.
Claire watched him. She'd been watching him for a long time. "Not yet. Should I send him to your place tomorrow? You two need to settle this."
"No." Isabella's response was a ghost of a sound. "Let him be angry, Claire. Maybe it's for the best. If he hates me now, maybe he won't cry when I'm gone."
