Every word was a serrated blade dragging across my heart. I struggled to draw breath.

I gripped the phone tighter, forcing my voice steady. "Blake, doesn't your school have the parent-child sports day tomorrow? Come home tonight, and you can visit Auntie Vera after the event, okay?"

His refusal was immediate, cold and unyielding.

"No. I don't want anyone at school to know I have a bad mom."

The line went dead in my heart before the call even ended.

Seeing the color drain from my face, Harrison stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. His voice was smooth, practiced.

"It's fine, Sara. I'll go to the event with Blake tomorrow." He paused, eyes gleaming with a solution that served everyone but me. "It actually works out perfectly. While we're at the school, you can take Vera to the doctor to get her back checked."

Hearing his father's proposal, Blake's tone softened instantly.

"Mom, you haven't made that pickled fish stew in a long time. Can you make it tomorrow? Wait for Dad and me to come home to eat?"

Children are terrifyingly fickle. One second, you're the enemy; the next, you're simply the cook.

Blake was only in elementary school. I told myself his temperament was just a phase, that his heart wasn't truly malicious. He was just... impressionable.

My rigid expression softened. I couldn't help it. "Alright," I said, resigned. "Remember to bring your asthma inhaler tomorrow. Take care of yourself. If anything happens, call me immediately."

That night, sleep refused to claim me.

When I did drift off, I was trapped in a nightmare of relentless, pouring rain—the same deluge from the night my parents died. The water rose around me, cold and suffocating, unending.

I woke with a start several times, instinctively reaching across the mattress. The sheets beside me were cold.

Harrison wasn't there.

I remembered his excuse: I don't want to wake you up early, so I'll sleep in the study.

A flimsy lie. In the past, even when he had 5:00 AM shifts, he never left our bed. He used to cling to me until the last possible second.

I tried to silence the voice in my head, tried to tell myself I was paranoid, that Harrison wasn't sleeping separately just because Vera was back.

But the next morning, reality shattered my denial.

I called Vera repeatedly to coordinate the doctor's appointment. She didn't answer. Instead, a notification popped up on my phone.