But as the evening wore on, I began to notice small, strange details that didn’t quite fit. Adam kept whispering on his phone in the hallway, his voice low and urgent.
Every time I walked past, he’d snap it shut and smile at me like nothing was wrong. My mom, Lorraine, would often disappear whenever someone asked for help setting the table or refilling drinks. She’d slip away without a word, and I’d find myself covering for her.
“Mom’s just tired,” I’d say, forcing a smile.
And then there were the glances. Adam and my mother kept exchanging these odd, fleeting looks across the room — a nod here, a quick turn of the head there.
It made my stomach twist, but I pushed the feeling down. Holidays were stressful, and people acted weird when they were exhausted or overwhelmed. I told myself I was reading too much into it.
I was looking for Adam to help me bring the rest of the presents in from the garage when it happened. I walked past the guest room at the end of the hallway, and I heard a sound that made my heart skip a beat.
A soft moan. My mother’s voice.
I froze. My brain scrambled for explanations. She must be on the phone. She must be watching something on her tablet. She must be— But deep down, I already knew.
My first instinct was denial. I had to be imagining it. There was no possible way that what I was thinking could be true. But my legs carried me forward anyway, and when I pushed the cracked door open, the truth slashed through me like a blade made of ice.
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