A sleeve had gotten caught in the dryer latch when he’d shut the door.

“What’s wrong?” Hannah edged closer.

“Nothing. A slight snag. I’ll have it free in a jiffy.” He opened the door again and exerted pressure on the sleeve.

It stretched but didn’t give.

He bent down. A loop of yarn had gotten caught in the upper latch that kept the door closed. Should be easy to extricate, though.

After dropping to the balls of his feet, he tried to work the loop loose.

It refused to budge.

Geez. How hard could it be to untangle one piece of yarn?

“Is it stuck bad?” Hannah hovered at his shoulder while she monitored his progress, a thread of panic weaving through her voice.

“No. I should have it straightened out in a minute.”

Except he didn’t. Instead, as he fiddled with it, the loop of yarn began to separate into delicate individual strands.

Not good.

But after all his manipulation, would another small tug free it?

Worth a try at this point. He wasn’t getting anywhere with his current approach.

He gave a firm but gentle pull. The loop of yarn broke—but as he drew back, the dryer maintained its grip on the severed end.

A line of stitching began to unravel.

The shriek in his right eardrum pierced his skull. “Stop! Stop! You’re wrecking it! It’s coming apart!”

Hannah’s screech turned into a keening wail punctuated by gut-wrenching sobs as she stared in horror at the damaged garment, wrapped her arms around herself, and rocked back and forth.

Jack gingerly extracted the piece of yarn from the latch, taking care not to do any further damage.

But as he cradled the damp sweater in his arms and watched his daughter have a meltdown, he couldn’t help but think what a perfect metaphor the unraveling garment was for his life.

What in the world was going on in there?

Christi slammed on her brakes as she drove away from Beth’s apartment after delivering an evening meal to her recuperating boss.

The howl was from a child—and it sounded more like intense grief than a tantrum.

After a microsecond hesitation, Christi pulled into a parking space in front of the Sea Haven Apartments laundry room and slid out from behind the wheel. How could she walk away from such anguish—even at the risk of being told this wasn’t any of her business?

She sped toward the door and pulled it open.

At the scene on the other side, her jaw dropped.

Jack—face stricken, a purple knitted garment draped over his arm—was watching a girl of about nine or ten sob as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Neither noticed her.

Should she back out before they—

As if sensing her presence, Jack’s head swiveled toward her.