Delilah had been standing outside his room for so long that her legs ached. Franklin had locked himself in the room for almost five hours and she was worried about him.

“Frank,” she called softly, her voice low, sounding tired. “Open up, son.”

She had lost count of how many times she had said those words.

Franklin hadn’t come out, not even for water.

She knew he was inside, she could hear faint movements sometimes, the shuffle of footsteps, the restless pacing, but he didn’t answer.

Delilah sighed, pressing her forehead against the door. Her hair brushed the glass as she closed her eyes. She wanted to knock harder, to...