“I buried my husband — your father — nine days ago,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a rage I didn’t yet know how to hold.

“And today is my birthday.”

Chloe let out a sharp, theatrical sigh and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

“Mrs. Theresa, everyone has problems. Honestly, you’re just sitting around in this dark house getting depressed.

You’d only be bored here alone. This gives you something to do. It’s good for your mental health to have a task.”

Austin looked up from his phone with a patronizing half-smile.