I opened the door to my mother-in-law, who brushed past me with a bag of cupcakes and her usual air of self-righteous disapproval. “You’re probably eating that store-bought junk again,” she announced by way of greeting. I closed the door, accustomed to her endless condescension. I endured it for Kenneth, for the fragile peace of our family.

In the kitchen, her tone softened as she addressed her son. “Kenny, honey, you look so pale. Is she not feeding you?”

Kenneth said nothing. The air grew thick, suffocating. A chill crept down my spine. This wasn’t the usual morning nagging. Something dark and heavy hung between them.