Sylvia’s smile disappeared completely.

Her mouth tightened into a hard, narrow line, and every trace of warmth left her eyes.

She pointed a sharp, manicured finger straight at Ethan’s leather messenger bag, which sat slumped on the blue plastic visitor chair by the wall.

“After everything I’ve done for you, Ethan, you stand there and tell me to go home?” Sylvia asked, her voice dropping into a harsh, shaky whisper.

Ethan didn’t answer her.