When Brandon finally returned, he unlocked the front door expecting to walk back into the same home he had left.
Instead, he stopped dead in the doorway.
His smile disappeared.
His eyes moved from one side of the room to the other.
His mother, Dawn, was rocking Ivy near the window.
My sister, Summer, was sitting on the couch feeding Lila.
His packed overnight bag was beside the stairs, ready to leave the house again.
Only this time, it wasn’t for another vacation.
On the kitchen table sat four days of feeding records, a screenshot of the cheerful fishing photograph Brandon had posted online, and our latest bank statement.
He stared at the table as though he had walked into the wrong house.
I pointed toward the empty chair across from me.
“Sit down, Brandon,” I said.
“We are finally going to have an honest conversation.”
