My son came home with grease under his fingernails for nearly a week before I finally discovered where he had been disappearing every afternoon. The first evening I noticed it, he tried to hide his hands inside the sleeves of his hoodie. I had just returned from work carrying grocery bags while mentally calculating bills I still needed to pay. The kitchen light flickered overhead, and the house smelled faintly of laundry detergent and old coffee. I was exhausted before dinner had even started. Then Jeffrey slipped quietly through the back door. “Jeffrey,” I called gently. “Come here for a...
Continues…