The morning started like chaos, the kind of chaos every parent knows—burnt toast, backpacks flung across chairs, kids asking for snakes and forgetting their teeth. Jack, my husband, sat pale and hunched over his coffee like it might help him avoid crumbling. He never stayed home. Not for migraines, not for food poisoning, not even for his mother’s funeral. So when he said, “I’m taking a sick day,” I blinked twice and told him to get back in bed.

Continues…