The next morning, the timer was sitting on the kitchen counter, its tape peeled off and its screen dark.
“I took it down,” Gerald told me. “I called someone about the shower valve, too. I shouldn’t have touched it.”
I believed him, but I was still learning not to brace myself for the next bit of coldness.
Robert left two days later after making Gerald repeat the feeding schedule back to him like a student before a test.
At the door, he squeezed my shoulder. “Call me if this nonsense returns.”
“Thank you, Robert,” I said.
He gave his son a look I’ll never forget. “Mean it this time.”
“I shouldn’t have touched it.”
The next morning, I walked into the bathroom and stood under the water without rushing.
No timer. No voice came through the door. No footsteps in the hall. Just steam climbing the mirror and hot water easing days of tension out of my shoulders.
