My father wasn’t around, which wasn’t unusual. He worked hard and was barely home. What was strange was that my mother made today’s dinner seem important, and my dad’s presence was usually a requirement.

I didn’t care much now that I had Devlynn to occupy my time.

“Who died?” I joked, hanging my jacket behind my chair and sitting at the table. As soon as I sat, my mom began bawling hysterically. Sarena hugged her, shooting me a dark look. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

I didn’t understand why she was acting the way she was. My entire life, I’d never seen my mother cry, not once. She was the epitome of measured grace.

I caught my sister’s eye, and she shrugged her shoulders, her look of confusion mirroring mine.

“I’m sorry, kids. Can you both sit down—are you hungry?” My mother stood, walking to the stove.

“Why aren't we eating in the dining room? We always eat in the dining room,” I said, thinking this scene was beyond weird.

Maybe I should have skipped this dinner in favor of Devlynn’s kisses. Since she’d come into my life, home hadn’t seemed quite as unbearable.

“Really, Elis?” Sarena scolded, shooting me a death-defying glare.

I walked over to my mother, took the white serving spoon from her, and placed it on the marble countertop.

Our apartment was nice. We lived in the Upper East Side. It was nothing like Devlynn’s place, but we were doing okay. My father was a corporate lawyer, and my mother was a stay-at-home mom who spent her time taking care of my sister and me. We had a pretty comfortable life, and for the most part, we were happy, my mom especially. She was the kind of mother my friends growing up wished they’d had. She was present, loving, and completely stable. So seeing her like this, falling apart and looking so sad, was more disturbing than it would have been for most.

“What are we going to do?” She hung her head and shook it slowly from side to side.

“Mom, please look at me.” I grabbed her hands, forcing her to shift her body to face me. I couldn’t help noticing how tired and worn she was, and her usual sunny disposition was now covered in defeat.

“He’s gone,” she whispered so softly I almost didn’t hear her.

“Who’s gone?”

“Your father. He’s gone. When the police called, I didn’t believe it.”

“What are you talking about?” Sarena asked, getting up from the table, her eyes rounded in shock and her bottom lip quivering as if trying to keep her tears at bay. “Where is Daddy?”

My mother wiped the tears from her face, straightened her back, and grabbed our hands, walking us back to the table. “I need you two to sit down.”