DAPHNE’s POV

They say a mother knows when something is wrong when the air shifts, when the house doesn’t feel safe anymore.

I was sitting at the kitchen table with Christian, the lamp spilling soft yellow light across his workbook, when I felt it. That strange quiet before a storm.

“Mommy, is this right?” Christian asked, pencil clutched tight in his little hand.

I leaned over, smoothing my palm over his hair as I checked the messy subtraction on the page. “Almost,” I whispered. ...