I stepped forward slowly, careful not to move too suddenly, as if one careless gesture might cause the fragile composure she was holding together to fall apart.
Her hands were rougher than I remembered, the skin dry from detergent and hot water.
The sight of it made my throat tighten.
“Why are you here?” I asked quietly, though the answer had already begun to form in my mind.
Allison rushed forward as if she could still rearrange the scene before it became something serious.
“It’s nothing dramatic,” she said quickly. “Meredith just likes helping out. We’ve had guests all evening, and someone had to handle the kitchen.”
I looked from my sister to the woman beside the sink.
Then I spoke again, my voice calm but firm.
“You put my wife in charge of washing dishes in my own house.”
Allison rolled her eyes as though the situation were trivial.
