“No,” I said. “He dropped it when he turned to leave.”

Rachel sat down opposite me, her face pale under the harsh kitchen light.

“I knew he was stressed, Mom. He’s been working late, looking exhausted. But I thought it was just… everything with Dad.”

“He’s terrified, Rachel,” I said. “He thinks he has to be the strong one, the man of the house, while facing this.”

“What are we going to do?” Rachel asked.

“I have to talk to him, but I need to do it carefully,” I said. “If I push too hard, he will close up.”

Rachel reached across the table and took my hand. “We’ll figure it out, Mom. Together.”

I looked at the kitchen clock. It was nearly nine.

The silence of the house felt heavy, filled with the ghosts of the past.

“I’m meeting Harold tomorrow morning,” I said quietly. “Just for a coffee.”

Rachel squeezed my hand. “Good. You need support too, Mom. Don’t forget that.”

I went up to my bedroom, but sleep did not come easily.

I lay in the dark, listening to the wind rattle the windowpane.