“That was a private grown-up conversation you were never supposed to be eavesdropping on, young man,” Gretchen snapped, her cheeks going red.

“And Grandma said she could sleep in my old bed on the second floor so she could watch the twins when you go back to work, Mom,” Austin added, paying no attention to her scolding.

I turned toward my husband, whose jaw was clenched as he stared at the scuffed linoleum under his work boots.

“Austin, look at me and listen really carefully,” I whispered, reaching over to cup his soft cheek with shaking fingers.

“You never, ever have to pay money to live in your own house with your mom.”