He ran his left hand straight through his brown hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

“I do not need you to buy us breakfast, Mom,” Ethan said.

“I need you to go home.”

Sylvia’s smile vanished completely.

Her mouth tightened into a hard, narrow line, and the warmth in her eyes vanished completely.

She pointed a sharp, manicured finger directly at Ethan’s leather messenger bag, which sat slumped on the blue plastic visitor chair near the wall.

“After everything I have done for you, Ethan, you stand there and tell me to go home?” Sylvia asked, her voice dropping into a harsh, trembling whisper.