“And what about that email notice I saw on your phone last Thursday from Austin’s elementary school about student file transfers?” I asked, stepping right up into his face.

Peter went completely still, his thumb hanging frozen above the glass of his phone as his face drained from red back to a ghostly white.

“I was just looking into what the paperwork would involve in case things hadn’t settled down by August, Claire,” he whispered, refusing to look at me.

“Why in the world would you need to research school transfer paperwork for a short summer visit to his great-aunt, Peter?” I asked, my voice rising in sheer horror.

“We didn’t know how long it would take you to recover from the surgery or for the bills to get paid down, so I was planning ahead,” he yelled, flinging his hands in the air.