On the plate sat Loretta’s favorite breakfast: blueberry pancakes, crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and a cup of coffee with exactly two sugars. It looked perfect. But stuck upright in every single item was a used utensil. A fork in the pancakes. A spoon in the eggs. A butter knife in the coffee. Each one still had a faint smear of toothpaste and breakfast on it.

Loretta stared at Evan. “Did you put these in your mouth?” He nodded calmly and pulled out the chair across from her. “Every one of them, Mom. Twice.” Then he coughed, a deep, rattling cough I had never heard from him. “And before you eat,” he added, “you should know I went to urgent care last night. They think it’s strep throat.”