Rebecca POV

Morning light crept through the kitchen curtains in thin, hesitant lines, but I barely noticed it. My attention was still anchored to the living room couch, to the place where Maxwell had collapsed the night before, heavy with grief, stripped of his defenses. I had seen my son hurt before. I had seen him angry, distant, withdrawn. But nothing prepared me for the weight of his head in my lap, for the way his shoulders shook as if holding back tears had finally cost him more than ...