Something in David seemed to break entirely at his mother-in-law's silence — the last thread of the composure he'd been fighting to hold onto since Clara had first woken to find him standing over her. He turned fully toward the two women in the doorway, his face contorted with an agony that had clearly been building for far longer than this single night, his wounded arm still raised, still bleeding faintly in the dim blue light. "WHO DID THIS TO MY WIFE?" His scream tore through the bedroom, loud enough that Clara flinched, loud enough that somewhere down the hall a dog began barking in response. "Eleanor — Margaret — one of you needs to tell me right now who did this to Clara before we ever met, because I have spent two years hiding a truth I promised to protect her from, and I am done hiding it alone!" Clara stared at her husband, at her mother, at her aunt, feeling the last two years of careful silences and unasked questions collapsing all at once around her. "David," she said quietly, her hand tightening on her stomach, "what truth. What is he talking about, Mom?" Eleanor's eyes finally left David's face and settled on her daughter's — and for the first time in Clara's entire life, her mother did not have a composed, deflecting answer ready. "Sit down," Eleanor said instead, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's something about this family you were never supposed to have to know."