“I have the senior-partner presentation tomorrow.”

“Our daughter is screaming.”

“She had a nightmare.”

He rolled toward the wall.

Pulled the blanket higher.

“Please deal with it.”

Before I could answer, our bedroom door opened.

My mother-in-law stood there.

Gertrude was seventy-one.

Normally, getting her fully dressed before eight in the morning required coffee and complaints.

At 1:49 a.m., she stood in the doorway wearing her winter coat.

Shoes.

Handbag.

Car keys in her fist.