So when Edward called one Tuesday morning at 10:42 and said he had lost his job, Hope opened the door before he finished asking.
She was standing in the kitchen, rinsing a coffee cup, when his name appeared on her phone. Edward rarely called during work hours. For one hopeful second, she thought perhaps he had good news, something about Dylan’s school or Sarah’s art project. Then she heard his voice.
“Mom?”
One word, and Hope knew.
“What happened, baby?”
There was a silence. He was forty-two years old, but grief, fear, and shame had a way of turning grown sons back into boys for one breath.
“I got laid off.”
Hope turned off the faucet. “Oh, Edward.”
“I didn’t see it coming. They said restructuring, but you know how that goes. The severance is small. We’re behind already. Linda’s furious. The rent—” His voice broke there, not fully, but enough. “I don’t know what to do.”
Hope closed her eyes.
