I cut my stepdaughter’s late mom’s dresses

“You really don’t know?”

I frown slightly, confused. “They said it was stress—”

“It is stress,” he interrupts, his voice sharper now, though still weak. “It’s everything. Work, life… and home.”

The last word hangs in the air between us, heavy and unmistakable.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You cut her dresses,” he says, his voice continue reading …