He wasn’t looking at his mother. He was looking at his payday.

I pressed the pen to the first line. Then I stopped.

I straightened my spine. The stoop in my shoulders vanished. I dropped the pen; it hit the linoleum with a sharp clatter.

“Actually, Colton,” I said, my voice ringing clear and entirely free of confusion, “I don’t think I’ll be signing anything of yours today.”

He frowned. “Mom? What are you doing? You said your head was foggy. Just sign the—”

“My mind is perfectly clear,” I cut him off, my gaze pinning him to the mattress. “Clearer than it’s been in ten months.”