When he walked into the bedroom and saw the organized closet, his mask slipped. For a split second, panic flickered in his eyes.
He spun around, gaze sharp. "Sara, didn't I tell you to wait? Your wrist is acting up—you shouldn't be overworking yourself."
I forced my mouth into a smile, though my insides had gone cold.
"It's fine," I lied. "I only moved a few clothes. Didn't touch anything else."
The implication hung heavy in the air: I hadn't opened the yearbook.
Harrison's shoulders dropped, tension draining out of him in a long, audible exhale.
I pretended not to notice, turning to the empty living room. "Where's Blake?"
Normally, he'd be tucked into bed by now. But the house was silent. I couldn't find him anywhere.
Panic rising, I dialed his smartwatch. Only then did I discover the truth: he was still at Vera's apartment. He'd even used his allowance to buy her medicine.
His voice, shrill and accusatory, pierced through the speaker.
"It's all your fault, Mom! If it weren't for you, Auntie Vera wouldn't have hurt her back. She wouldn't be spending her birthday in pain."
"Blake—"