Chapter 1 — The Question

My son stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding a half-empty glass of orange juice, asking a question I did not know how to answer.

“Dad,” Colm said, his voice perfectly level, “why does Mom change her shirt in the driveway every day?”

I stared at him.

He was nine, in a faded graphic tee, looking up at me as though this were the most routine thing in the world — as ordinary as asking for help with a fraction.

Chapter 2 — From His Window

I kept my face neutral.

“What do you mean, buddy?

Mom?”

“When she comes home from work, she sits in the car for a really long time.

Then she changes her shirt.

I watch from my window.” Colm took a slow sip of juice, with no idea that he was quietly dismantling the ground under my feet.

“Sometimes she takes off her shirt and puts on a different one from a plastic bag.

Then she comes inside.”

My hands went cold around my coffee mug.

“How often does this happen?”

“Every day for, like, months, maybe.” His brow furrowed.

“Sometimes she cries first, Dad.