Daniel’s voice was filled with exhaustion.
“I know that.”
Evelyn looked back toward the bedroom.
Noah remained curled tightly into himself, staring at the doorway.
“What happened to his wrist?”
Daniel waited far too long before answering.
Then Evelyn noticed a blue folder on the nightstand.
She reached it before he could stop her.
Inside were prescriptions, neurological reports, emergency-room records, and paperwork from a psychiatric treatment center.
She checked the date.
Eighteen days earlier.
Severe anxiety episode.
Dissociative symptoms.
Extreme sleep deprivation.
High-risk behavior.
Nausea rose in her throat.
“High-risk behavior?” she repeated. “What did he do?”
Daniel’s expression collapsed.
“He locked himself in the bathroom with sleeping pills.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“I broke the lock and got inside,” Daniel continued. “He had not taken a life-threatening amount, but the doctors said he could no longer be left alone.”
