Timothy arched an eyebrow, staring irritably at the razor in his hand.

"Whatever. I'll just make do."

After Henry got up, father and son sat down together for breakfast.

Henry had barely tasted his chicken noodle soup before he grimaced and called out, "Mom, did you put too much salt in this?"

No answer.

He tried again, a little louder. "Mom?"

Timothy replied calmly, "Stop calling, your mom isn't home."

Immediately, Henry tapped at his smartwatch, trying to call Jessica, but her phone was switched off.

Lowering his voice, Henry said, "Dad, do you think Mom's upset and ran away?"

"She didn't."

With both him and their son at home, Timothy was certain Jessica wouldn't just leave.

"Good. I still think Mom's breakfasts taste better, though."

Neither of them really enjoyed the meal that morning; it just didn't compare to what they were used to.

"Dad, last night Mom made Miss Sheila so mad she left. Is she coming to see me today?"

"She twisted her ankle and is in the hospital. She probably won't be able to visit today."

tightened with worry. "Oh no, Miss Sheila hurt her foot? That must really hurt. Dad, can you call school for me? I

firm.

daring to push further, and mumbled, "Can I go see

"That's fine."

off his chair, ran over, and flung his arms around Timothy,

school, come pick me up early, okay? So we

ruffled Henry's hair and stood up, personally

Normally, Mrs. Williams took care of the room herself, so it was already spotless. Mabel

the window to let

she still methodically wiped down every

the wind was

diagnosis letter was pushed even further out

had returned to her

time she'd tidied up the

wanting nothing

relief of having nothing to

her

nonstop with text and app

her texts first—several missed calls, some from Timothy, some

was probably calling about

she'd have called

just let it

had transferred

a bitter, humorless laugh. He needed her

the

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