“Where is your mother now?” I asked.

“She’s at her house,” he said.

“Call her.”

“Sophia, please. Let’s talk about this first.”

“Call her, Ethan, or I call the police right now.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket.

His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling.

Before he could dial, the sound of a key turning in the front door lock echoed through the quiet house.

We both froze.

The heavy front door swung open downstairs.

“Ethan?” Linda’s voice called out from the entryway.

“Are you guys home? I brought some dinner.”

Ethan looked at me, a sudden panic flaring in his eyes.

“Don’t say anything to her yet,” he whispered.

I walked past him, my shoulder brushing his chest.

I walked down the carpeted hallway to the top of the stairs.

The air downstairs smelled of cold autumn air and garlic.

Linda was standing in the foyer, wearing her long wool coat.

She was holding a white paper bag from the Italian restaurant down the street.

She looked up and saw me.

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, then returned.