“What are you doing down here, Mom?” Mark asked, his eyes never leaving the lit screen.

“I’m sitting at the table,” I said.

Sloan set her yogurt tub on the quartz island with a loud plastic clatter.

“Mark took your keys for a reason,” Sloan said, her airy voice dropping into a sharp sneer.

“You belong upstairs until the intake coordinator calls us back.”

“I’m taking my seat at this table one last time,” I said.

Mark let out a sharp breath and slammed his phone face down on the quartz counter.