Chapter 1

After Dad got promoted, he laid down a strict new rule for our house.

Every Friday from 9:00 PM to Saturday morning at 7:00 AM was his official "Silent Time."

No calls, no texts, and absolutely no trivial domestic drama could disturb him.

He claimed this was prescribed by the corporate wellness coach his firm had just hired.

"A mature wife," Dad told Mom, "knows how to give her husband room to breathe."

Mom looked at him and asked, "What if the kid gets a fever in the middle of the night?"

Dad didn't even look up from his iPad.

"The ER is open twenty-four hours. Stop running to me for every little thing."

Later, there was a gas leak in our kitchen.

Mom collapsed on the floor. Beside her trembling hand, her phone screen lit up, went black, and lit up again.

I held her freezing body and dialed Dad twelve times.

Every single call was cut off by him.

The next morning, he finally texted back:

Using the kid being sick to trick me again? Are you ever going to quit throwing tantrums?

Sitting in the sterile hospital hallway, staring at the white sheet pulled over Mom's face, I slowly typed back:

Don't worry, Dad.

No one will ever disturb your nights again.

The second my message sent, Dad fired back:

"Stop lying."

I didn't reply.

A nurse handed me a clear zip-top bag containing Mom's phone, her wedding band, and a silver bracelet.

Dad had brought that bracelet back from a business trip two years ago. The clasp broke a long time ago. Mom had gotten it fixed twice, never bearing to take it off.

When my grandmother, Eleanor, rushed through the ER doors, her shoes were on the wrong feet.

She checked my head, pulled up my sleeves to inspect my arms, and only turned toward the closed resuscitation doors once she knew I was unhurt.

The doctor handed her the medical chart.

Eleanor looked at it, and her eyes turned instantly bloodshot.

"Did she... say anything at the end?"

The doctor shook his head gently.

"She was already losing consciousness when the paramedics brought her in. But she spent her last moments shielding something in her arms."

The nurse handed over a blood-stained paper bag.

I opened it. Inside was a brand-new luxury men's watch.

Tucked beneath the velvet box was a card:

Congratulations on your promotion.

You worked so hard for so many years. You finally made it.

Signed with Mom's name: Clara.

It hit me all at once.

Last Friday, Mom had pulled me aside in secret.

"Mia, what kind of gift do you think your dad would like?"

She said Dad was burning out from work and wanted to give him a surprise.

She had planned to hand it to him herself when he came home.

She never got the chance.

After signing the paperwork, Eleanor saw the chat logs between Dad and me. Her face went pale with pure fury.

"You told him?"

"Yes."

"He said Mom's faking it."

Eleanor snatched my phone and called Dad right there.

This time, he picked up on the second ring.

Eleanor said only one line:

"Richard, Clara didn't make it last night. She's dead."

The line fell dead silent for a few seconds.

Then Dad let out a short, cynical laugh.

"Are you in on their little act now, too?"

Eleanor's voice cracked with rage.

"I am standing in the hospital signing Clara's death certificate!"

Dad's tone turned freezing cold.

"Yesterday she supposedly had a stomachache. Today you're telling me she's dead? Isn't she just trying to force me to break my rule? I made it crystal clear. Do not bother me after nine on Friday nights."

"Put Clara on the phone. Tell her to say it to me herself."

Eleanor clutched the phone until her knuckles turned white.

"How the hell is a dead person supposed to talk to you?!"

Dad hung up.

The nurse beside us dialed his number again using the emergency contact on file.

No answer.

Eleanor stared at the black screen, speechless for a long time.

I suddenly realized there was no point in explaining anything anymore.

The hospital had called.

I had told him.

Eleanor had told him to his face.

It wasn't that no one informed Dad.

It was that he was utterly convinced Mom could never leave him. He believed she would stoop to anything just to force him to turn around.

That afternoon, Dad sent fifty dollars to my PayPal.

The memo had only four words:

"Buy her a cake."

Ten minutes later, another text arrived:

"The expensive one she always hesitates to buy. "

Eleanor slammed the phone facedown on the table in disgust.

He even remembered which cake Mom couldn't bear to splurge on.

Yet he refused to step foot in the hospital.

Because showing up meant admitting Mom had "won" this round.

That night, a message popped up in our SnapChat family group:

"I'm home."

"Come back once you're done throwing your fit. "

He was certain that when Sunday rolled around, Mom would come home on her own, just like she always did.

Sunday afternoon, Eleanor took me back to pack my things.

When we unlocked the door, the microwave gave a soft chime.

Dad walked out carrying a mug of warm milk, casually placing it down where Mom always sat.

Seeing me, his first instinct was to look right past my shoulder.

"Where's your mother?"

Eleanor stood in the entryway and said coldly, "She's dead."