I woke just after six the next morning. Sunlight spilled through the curtains, and for a few seconds I couldn’t remember where I was. Then I saw my neatly folded clothes on the chair and felt the unfamiliar relief of having no one expecting breakfast.

I ordered coffee from the lobby and switched my phone back on.

Thirty-two missed calls. Fourteen from Daniel. Nine from Eleanor. Three from his sister. The rest from relatives who’d been at the house. And messages.

Where did you put the gravy recipe? The turkey is still pink in the middle. Your oven keeps beeping. Please answer. Mom is upset. People are leaving.

You embarrassed Daniel in front of everyone. Come home so we can discuss this like adults.

The last one had arrived at 1:18 a.m. It was from Daniel.