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But he’d also spent most of the morning worrying about his dog, wondering what else he could try.

“What would that entail?” he asked.

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” she admitted. “I’ll have to do more research.”

“I’m willing to try anything at this point,” he said. “I think he’s depressed. I don’t know how to help him.”

“Sad dog,” his mom said, reaching out to rub Kodiak’s head with uncoordinated, tender strokes. The dog leaned into her hand, pressing closer, his eyes half closed in bliss.

“Poor thing,” Hannah said softly, watching the interaction. “Is he eating the way he’s supposed to?”

“He still doesn’t have his full appetite back,” Wes said. “Not since the incident. The vet says to give it time.”

“But it’s hard to watch and wait,” she finished for him.

He nodded.

“Do you want to see my room?” Susie asked suddenly, turning to Hannah with a bright smile.

“I’m not sure,” Hannah said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I don’t have very much time. I need to go pick up the children soon. But I could spare a few minutes.”

“Good.” Susie slipped her arm through Hannah’s as if they had been best friends for years—or as if she had once imagined Hannah as her daughter-in-law.

Not sure what else to do, Wes followed as Susie tugged Hannah down the hall, Kodi trotting obediently beside him.

“It’s pink,” Susie said proudly as they stepped into her room. “I love pink.”

It was a small but comfortable space. A twin bed with a quilted pink coverlet sat against one wall, flanked by a nightstand with a lamp and a pink cup for water. Sheer pink curtains framed the window, softening the winter light.

Family photos clustered on a bulletin board and along the dresser. Kelsey and her kids, Wes in uniform, their parents at some long-ago anniversary party.

The room was cozy, thoughtfully arranged. But it was not the house where his mother had once baked Christmas cookies for half the neighborhood and hung garlands from every available surface.

The knowledge that this single room now held the entirety of her private world hit him with fresh force and his throat tightened.

Anger followed on its heels, hot and familiar. Not at his mother. Never at her. At the strung-out junkie searching for prescription drugs who’d shot his father in the botched robbery then turned the gun on his mother, sending shrapnel through Susie’s skull and scrambling the vibrant, capable woman she’d been into someone whose memories had splintered like broken ornaments.

He thought of the trial. The guilty verdict that had done nothing to bring his father back, the notification months later that the man had killed himself in prison. Tragedy all around, the grief counselors had called it.

Wes could not find much room in himself for sympathy.

“This is a beautiful room, Susie,” Hannah said warmly. “I love the pink curtains.”

“Kelsey made them,” his mother said, that vague smile brightening. “She’s a good girl.”

Wes thought of how he and his sister early on had tried to bring their mom home to live with them. It hadn’t worked. Susie had been too easily confused, too prone to wandering. It hadn’t been safe for her.

Placing her in full-time care had been the only real choice.

Susie moved to the row of photos and touched the one of her and her husband.

“That is Brian,” Susie said, reaching out to touch the glass. “He’s my sweetheart.” She turned to Hannah and added, as if sharing a delightful secret, “Just like you are Wes’s sweetheart.”

Hannah’s gaze flew to his, startled, then slid quickly away.

“I’m not Wes’s sweetheart anymore,” she said firmly, even as her tone stayed gentle.

“Why not?” his mother asked, brows knitting. Genuine confusion clouded her face. “Don’t you love Wes?”