I had been gone for five days, but nothing prepared me for what I saw when I opened the door: my wife juggling dinner and our sick toddler, while my mother and sister sat nearby on their phones.

“Daddy…”

The weak little voice came from the kitchen.

Ethan froze beside the doorway, his suitcase still hanging from one hand.

Lauren stood at the stove wearing sweatpants and one of Ethan’s old college T-shirts. Her hair was twisted into a loose knot that looked like it had been redone three times already. Their two-year-old son Noah clung to her shoulder, flushed bright red with fever and coughing weakly against her neck.

With one hand, Lauren stirred soup.

With the other, she reached blindly for a thermometer on the counter.

The kitchen looked like a disaster zone.

Dirty dishes towered inside the sink. Laundry spilled from baskets near the hallway. Toys covered the living room floor. Half-empty medicine bottles sat beside juice cups and crumpled tissues.