I showed them the guest room, which had two queen beds.

“Put your bags in here,” I said.

The doorbell rang a moment later.

I opened it to find Sarah, a middle-aged woman wearing clean blue scrubs.

She carried a tote bag filled with children’s books and board games.

“Mr. Collins?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you for coming on such short notice,” I said.

I handed her the spare key fob and showed her the kitchen.

“The children are in the guest room,” I said. “They have not eaten dinner yet.”

“I will take care of everything,” Sarah said, her voice calm and reassuring.

“Thank you,” I said. “I will be in my home office.”

I walked down the hallway to my study and closed the heavy oak door.

The sudden silence of the room was a relief.

I sat down at my mahogany desk and opened my laptop.

I needed to contact my airline’s legal union representative immediately.

As a commercial pilot, my career depended on my spotless record and my mental fitness.

My mother and sister were trying to use my name to secure loans and custody agreements.