“Quit being hysterical,” Richard said, his voice swelling to fill the quiet room.

“I handle the money because you panic.

Look at yourself.

You’re freaking out in public like a crazy person.”

Two women at the pickup counter were staring at us.

One of them was Sarah Jenkins, the PTA president at Hannah’s high school.

She held a green tea and was openly staring as my husband yelled at me.

My face went hot with a sudden, fierce burn.