called out, voice strained, “we need to talk.”
I wiped my hands on my apron and looked at them properly. My son—Ethan—looked worn down in a way that wasn’t just tired. His tie was crooked, his hair wasn’t combed the way it always was, and his eyes had that defeated shadow men get when they’ve been apologizing for their own lives for too long. His wife—Mallory—looked continue reading …
