Allison's hand left the doorframe. She folded her arms — not defensively, exactly, but as if she were holding something inside her ribs that might otherwise spill onto the foyer floor.
"There's more to it."
Margaret looked at her daughter-in-law then, and the look was not hatred, and it was not forgiveness. It was the look of a woman who had been shown a piece of paper and asked to survive it.
"They showed me the paperwork."
Daniel's voice went quieter. The kind of quiet that precedes either a collapse or a storm.
"Mom… whose signature was on it?"