“He was drowning, Rachel.

He called me every single afternoon at three o’clock on his work phone, crying about how hard his life had become.”

June shifted slightly in my lap, her tiny fingers tightening their grasp on the hem of my shirt collar.

I held my breath for three seconds, waiting for Ethan to raise his voice and deny it, but the room remained silent except for the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead.

“Every afternoon at three?” I asked softly.