Jessa

I knew something was wrong the second I stepped inside.

Not because anyone was yelling.

Not because anything was broken.

Because the house felt… tense.

Like the air had been stretched too tight.

Mom was in the living room.

So was Jackson.

And my brother looked like he’d just come off the field after a brutal hit—jaw clenched, shoulders rigid, that stormy look in his eyes that meant he was trying not to explode.

Mom’s face was pale, her arms folded like she was holding ...