After my husband threw me to the floor and broke my leg, my four-year-old daughter used our secret signal and called grandpa for help.

— You transferred the money, I said, holding up the notification.

David barely reacted.

— Our money, Sarah.

— My inheritance.

A cold smile crossed his face.

— Your father’s charity.

Margaret entered behind him.

Pearls around her neck.

Wineglass in hand.

An expression that always managed to look sympathetic while feeling cruel.

— Don’t make this ugly, Sarah, continue reading …