I looked up at the ceiling and realized with a sinking heart that Austin had been listening to our raised voices from the top of the stairs yet again.

I pushed my chair away from the island and hurried up the stairs, stopping right outside Austin’s closed door and knocking softly with my knuckles.

“Austin, honey, it’s Mom, can I please come in?” I called gently through the painted wood.

There was a frantic scuffling inside, like something heavy being dragged across the carpet, and then the brass knob slowly turned.

When the door swung open, my breath caught in my throat at the sight of his blue rolling suitcase standing upright in the middle of the room.