Greg turned the key in the ignition without looking up at me.

“The service was poor, Claire.

People change.”

He pulled out of the parking space before I could ask about the four missing days on his office calendar.

By two o’clock, Sophie’s hatchback pulled into the driveway, her tires crunching over damp pine needles near the garage.

She set her canvas college tote on the kitchen island and stopped cold when she saw the financial spreadsheets spread across the laminate counter.

“What are all these tax schedules, Mom?” Sophie asked, picking up a yellow highlighter.