Lauren’s name came up on the dash display, and her ringtone was still that cracked, tinkling thing she had set at fourteen and never changed.

I answered it.

“Honey?”

She was crying before she said a word.

Not the jagged crying of a crisis, but the steady kind, the kind that had been going on for a while before she picked up the phone.

“Mom, I’m so sorry.

The code.

I gave Dad the code.”