He looked small now, his shoulders hunched under his grey wool coat.

“How much, David?” I asked.

The kitchen felt cold, though the radiator was clicking under the window.

“It doesn’t matter,” David said, looking away from me again.

“It does matter,” I said, stepping closer to him.

I let go of Rachel’s hand and reached out to touch his arm.

He flinched, but he did not pull away.

“Tell me the truth, David,” I said. “Please.”

He let out a long, ragged breath that sounded like a sob, though his eyes remained dry.

“The business,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur.

“The inventory was overvalued, and the suppliers pulled our credit three months ago.”

“I took out a second mortgage on my house to cover the payroll.”

“And then the distributor went under.”

He stopped, his throat working as he swallowed.

“I owe over two hundred thousand dollars, Mom.”

The number hung in the quiet air of the kitchen.

It was more money than I could fully comprehend, a sum that seemed impossible.

“And you wanted to sell this place,” I said, the realization settling heavily in my chest.