Friday, the air in the house was thin and tight.

Bethany looked pale, dark circles under her eyes, and every time a car passed or my phone buzzed she startled, a full-body flinch, as if she were braced for a knock at the door.

After she left for work, Colm came home at half past three.

Ten minutes later he came into my office, his usual bounce gone, holding a crumpled piece of lined notebook paper.

“Dad?

I found this in the trash in Mom’s bathroom.