“What’s he doing to the car?”

“Go ask your son,” I said.

“He signed for it.”

Brooke stood on the top step with both hands resting on her belly.

“Harper,” she said, “you can’t do this to him.”

I walked past all three of them into the house.

The marble in the entryway was cold through my shoes.

There was still warm coffee in the pot, burnt toast in the sink, and a pile of mail on the counter with my name on none of it.