The morning sunlight seeped through the curtains, painting streaks of gold across the kitchen floor. Zoey sat at the edge of the table, her fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. Her mind wouldn’t stop racing. Daniel’s behavior yesterday haunted her—his sudden urgency at the hospital, the bribe to the doctor, the desperate whisper of his voice when he pleaded for the drugs. Everything she thought she knew about him now felt like a fragile illusion.

Her chest tightened. The children were upstairs, happily oblivious to the storm brewing around them. Avila would be laughing and running around, while Vivian probably buried her nose in...