Vanessa didn't move from the doorway. She studied the older woman carefully—Clarice's smile didn't reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile that had seen years of rehearsals. The kind of smile that came with an agenda.
"Stacy's mother," Vanessa repeated slowly. "What brings you here this late?"
Clarice looked past her into the house, uninvited. "My daughter called me hours ago. Said she was treated like trash here. Said she almost lost her baby."
Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "Your daughter caused a scene. She pushed me into the pool. I didn't lay a hand on her."
Clarice stepped forward, still not crossing the threshold. "I didn't come here to argue, Mrs. Quinn. I came to see my daughter."
Vanessa crossed her arms. "She's at the hospital."
"Oh," Clarice said softly. "And I suppose you sent her there yourself?"
"No," Vanessa replied, voice calm. "Rowen did. Because despite everything, he cares about the child."
