I swear I wasn't trying to eavesdrop.

I had sneaked downstairs for a glass of water, the cold tiles biting at my bare feet. The house was usually quiet at this hour, and Mom was supposed to be winding down in her office nook. I tiptoed to the fridge, filling my glass. But when her voice drifted down the hall from the master bedroom, it was low, urgent, and loud enough to catch my ear.

I froze.

"I’m not making this up," she insisted, pacing with her phone pressed to her ear. "It’s been three weeks, Donna. Three weeks, and every time I try, he’s either 'too tired,' he doesn't...