Hailee's POV
Dinner felt like a scene I was watching from far away. The table was set beautifully: silver lids, warm bread, bowls of soup that smelled like thyme and butter, candles flickering in the low light. The boys sat to my left, my mother across from me, Peter at the head. People spoke. Knives touched plates. Someone laughed at something Peter said.
I nodded when I was supposed to. I smiled when someone looked my way. I lifted my spoon and tasted nothing.
All day, I had tried Nathan's number. Again. Again. Again. First, it rang and went to voicemail. Then it did not ring at all. "The number you have dialed is currently switched off or outside the coverage area." I could hear that recording even over the clink of forks. It looped in my head like a bad song I could not shut off.
"Hailee," Peter said lightly, "the stew?"
