My anger was too large for noise.

I took out my phone and photographed everything — the empty fridge, the cold soup, the bloodstain on her sweater, the note.

Then I wrapped Liam in my winter coat, lifted Maya into my arms, and carried them out the door.

In the cab to the hospital, while New Year’s fireworks lit the Manhattan skyline across the East River, my wife shivered with a rising fever.

Before I put my phone away, I opened my banking app and canceled every authorized-user card linked to my account — the ones my mother, my sister, and her husband Mark used daily.

At that exact hour they were sipping champagne at a resort in South Beach, sure my income was a bottomless well.