Each word stung like a lashing whip. She was right. She was so fucking right, and he let her anger wash over him like a well-deserved hit, almost relishing it. He wasn't crying because he wasn't any of those things. He was crying because she was, and he'd just watched from the sidelines.
And she was right about it all. And he couldn't own it. That was the problem. She was right, and they both knew who would have been handling the situation better. George gripped the counter as she yelled, head turning from her.
"Daddy?" Natalie whispered, peeking her head around the doorframe, hands fisted into the hem of the nightshirt she wore. Her hair was everywhere and she looked absolutely scared shitless. George blanched.
"Hey... hey, Nat," he said finally, wiping his face before walking over to her and lifting her up. She was too big, but she went anyway, hands coming up to George's face in concern.
"Daddy," she started to speak again, confused by the whole situation. She hugged him after a moment, not liking how sad he looked. George hugged her back, and ignored the nagging thought surfacing in his mind as he started to step towards the kitchen door. He glanced over his shoulder at Alicia, but didn't meet her gaze and didn't say a word. He couldn't, because he was a coward now if he ever was one. So he just turned and walked Natalie back down the hall to her room.