Now, he was a grown man, hiding behind a wall of anger because he was afraid.

When I pulled into the driveway, the house was dark except for the porch light.

I unlocked the front door and stepped into the warm hallway, smelling the scent of lavender furniture polish.

Rachel’s wool coat was hanging on the peg near the door.

She came out of the kitchen, holding a mug of tea, her expression anxious.

“Mom? You’re back early,” Rachel said, searching my face. “What happened?”

I hung up my coat and sat down at the kitchen table.

My hands were still cold, even in the warmth of the house.

“Your brother was at the dance,” I said.

Rachel sighed, setting her mug down on the counter. “Oh, Mom. Did he make a scene?”

“He was angry,” I said. “But then he left. And he dropped this.”

I pulled the folded medical report from my pocket and smoothed it out on the wooden table.

Rachel leaned over, her eyes widening as she read the words.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her hand going to her mouth. “Did he tell you about this?”