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.” Then my father looked straight at me and said, “You’ll be helping with the kids.” I froze. “Excuse me?” My sister rolled her eyes. “You’re not doing anything with your life anyway. This will give you purpose.”

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.”

“This is Officer Daniel Harris with the Maple Ridge Police Department. Are you related to Colette Pierre?”