Ethan took a wooden spoon from the utensil drawer and started stirring the pot on the stove.

His cell phone, lying face-up on the granite island next to the fruit bowl, began vibrating against the stone.

The screen lit up with his mother’s full name, Sylvia Donnelly, flashing across it.

Ethan stopped stirring, set the spoon on a ceramic rest, and looked across the counter at the glowing screen.

He didn’t touch the phone or try to move it out of the light.

“She called twice while I was at the clinic,” Ethan said plainly, his voice staying level.