“Are you a husband and a father, or are you still a child living under your mother’s protection?”

Across the center aisle, two elderly women sitting in blue vinyl chairs shifted, watching us closely over the tops of their reading glasses.

A man with a bruised collarbone stopped pacing near the registration counter, turning his head to observe the scene unfolding near row three.

Ethan stared down at his shoes, his knuckles white as he squeezed the sleeves of his wool coat.

“Ethan,” Sylvia said, her sharp declarations cutting fast into the room.