My husband kissed our feverish kids goodbye, packed a suitcase, and flew to the Mediterranean with his mother. Two days later, one number in our bank account made my blood run cold.
The humidifier hummed in the corner of the nursery, its soft rattle the only steady sound in a house that felt too heavy that Tuesday evening. I pressed a cool cloth to Sam’s forehead while Ellie coughed in her sleep across the hall. Eight years of marriage, two feverish kids, and a husband whose phone had been buzzing for the past forty minutes.
I already knew who was on the other end.
I won’t spend my last years sitting alone.
David’s voice drifted up the stairs, warm and patient in a way I hadn’t heard aimed at me in months.
“I know, Mom,” David said softly.
Brenda’s voice carried through the speaker just enough for me to catch a few words.
