“I’m busy,” he snapped into the phone.
I didn’t hear the voice on the other end, but I saw his posture change completely. The smug looseness left his shoulders.
He stopped mid-sentence and looked past me toward the hallway.
I heard the front door open and close.
Brisk footsteps echoed down the hallway, heels clicking on the hardwood. Then a woman’s voice carried down the hall.
His face drained of color faster than I’d ever seen.
I turned just as an older woman appeared in the doorway of the twins’ room.
She took in everything in one slow sweep: the torn wallpaper hanging off the wall like shed skin, and the work gloves on his hands.
Her gaze narrowed when she saw me, still struggling to hold back my tears.
She turned to him and arched her eyebrows.
He scoffed, recovering just enough to try his usual approach.
“This isn’t your business, Mom.”
Mom? I looked at the woman again. This was his mother?
I’d never met her before, not even at the wedding. Nobody talked about her either. I’d assumed she was dead.
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