“What about your mother?”

“I changed our house locks this morning,” Ethan said, pointing toward the entry table where two fresh silver keys lay beside his wallet.

“If she comes here, she knocks on the door like any other visitor.

And if she complains about how we run our home, I will tell her to leave.”

I stood up from the chair and looked at him.

His shirt was wrinkled from the night in the ER waiting room, but his chin was held firm.