“Mr. Rosenberg, are you staying for dinner?” Samuel asked cheerfully. “If so, let’s talk about something else. I’d hate to lose my appetite.”
Peter said nothing, simply picking up his own silverware.
Lionel stared at the three of them, a perfect, impenetrable unit. A lump formed in his throat as he looked at Hannah, but he knew there was nothing more to say. He turned and walked out of the restaurant. He would wait for her at home. He would make her listen.
But as evening fell, Hannah didn't return. He waited on the sofa for over half an hour, his anxiety mounting. He reached for his phone to call her, then remembered she had blocked his number.
He took a deep breath, set the phone down, and continued to wait. The sky outside grew dark, but there was still no sign of her. His patience wore thin. He got up and began to pace in front of the house, craning his neck to look down the long driveway every few seconds.
Lily, watching from the doorway, wanted to suggest he eat something, but the memory of what had happened to her own daughter stopped her. She was terrified that if she said the wrong thing, Lionel would send her away too.
“Sir, perhaps you could use my phone to call the missus?” she offered tentatively, holding out her own device. She knew it was probably pointless. Even when Hannah did come home, she never ate with him. A phone call would likely just lead to another fight. But she didn't dare say that aloud.

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