The locked door.

Eleanor at the window.

The mile-long walk in the freezing rain.

The delivery driver who found him.

The trauma bay.

And then Mason’s confession, and his mother’s silence.

I watched my husband’s face as I spoke, watched the annoyance drain out of it and something far worse pour in to replace it.

By the end he had gone completely silent, the color gone entirely from his face, and he sank down slowly onto the edge of the hotel bed as though his legs had stopped holding him.