I looked at the glowing buttons on the vending machine, trying to keep my breathing steady.

The heavy wooden chairs squeaked behind me as a janitor pushed his mop bucket past our table.

“Daniel is lying to the police about the drain cleaner,” I said.

“My son is a wonderful provider,” Patricia said, her tone dropping into a familiar condescension.

“If he says you’re struggling with your duties, I believe him.”

She picked up her bottle and patted the table twice more.

“You should probably go speak to that other officer,” Patricia said.