She kept a change of clothes at the old house.
As soon as she closed the door behind her, Danielle found herself face to face with Paula, who was crossing the walkway outside, sheltering under a large umbrella.
"Oh, Dani." Paula's voice was syrupy as she strolled up to the door. "Where's Alex? Didn't he come back with you?"
Danielle saw right through the feigned innocence—a deliberate jab, a little provocation.
She managed a dry, mocking smile. "If you're looking for him, you can just call his cell."
Paula could feel the chill in Danielle's tone—a complete one-eighty from before.
Once upon a time, Danielle would bend over backward to please the Davidsons, practically tripping over herself for their approval. Now she wore her aloofness like armor, suddenly too proud for the likes of them.
Paula chalked it up to jealousy. After all, Millie had stolen the spotlight at the birthday dinner tonight, while Danielle—Mrs. Davidson herself—had been left in the dust, a disappointment by comparison.
"Aren't you the least bit worried your husband isn't coming home? Aren't you afraid he'll leave you?" Paula's voice oozed with false concern.
Last time Danielle had shut her down so bluntly, even claiming she was about to get divorced. Paula hadn't believed for a second that Danielle had the guts.
Now here she was, crawling back after all.
The memory still stung; Paula relished the chance to twist the knife.
Danielle didn't bother dignifying the bait with a response.
Paula smiled, undeterred, and went on, "Alex took Millie home, you know. With this storm, Millie said she had family stuff to handle, so he drove her. Didn't he tell you?"
Danielle hesitated, a tight, prickling ache spreading in her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs.
She could never get Alexander to do her a favor, not even once. Years ago, when Niki came down sick in the middle of the night and Danielle herself was burning up with fever, she'd asked Alexander to drive them to the hospital.
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