The phone rang while I was setting the table for dinner. It was a Tuesday in late December, just three days before Christmas. The house smelled like roasted chicken and vanilla candles. A box of wrapping paper sat open in the corner, and the kids were in the living room arguing over which presents they were sure belonged to them. I answered without looking at the screen. “Hey.” “I’m heading out now,” Ethan said. His voice was tired but warm—the way it always sounded after a long day. “I just need to stop at the store. The kids won’t stop talking about…
