I looked at my son, at the stiff line of his shoulders, at how close he stood to Vanessa, as if she needed protecting.

“Ethan,” I said.

“I didn’t write that card.”

“Just go home, Mother.”

I walked out.

The door clicked closed behind me, and then the latch caught.

I stood in the hall with the tote against my leg and stared at the brass handle.

Someone inside gave one short, high laugh.