The signals were not subtle.

Long sleeves in July are not subtle.

A child going silent at the sound of a footstep is not subtle.

My wife’s voice disappearing from her own home is not subtle.

None of it was hidden from me.

I simply declined to see it, every single day, and my mother learned very quickly that she could do almost anything in front of me as long as she gave me a comfortable sentence to explain it away — because she had correctly understood, long before I did, that I would always rather be comfortable than be right.