During Mother’s Day dinner, my sister proudly announced that her third baby was on the way. My mother clapped her hands and said, “This is everything I ever wanted.”

That should have told me everything.

My phone started vibrating across my nightstand at 8:12 a.m., dragging me out of the thin, bitter sleep I had finally fallen into sometime after dawn. Unknown number. For a few seconds, I just stared at it through swollen eyes, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, still smelling faintly like roasted chicken, lemon cake, and the perfume my mother sprayed too heavily whenever she wanted a room to feel controlled.

I almost let it ring.

Then some old instinct made me reach for it.

“Hello?”

A calm male voice answered. “Good morning, ma’am. Is this Martha Pierre?”

I sat up slowly.

“Yes.”