For Tessa, that happened in small pieces.
She stopped checking the clock whenever someone left the room.
She stopped asking me three times how long an errand would take.
She stopped watching Miles with that tense little expression that made it look as though she were waiting to be assigned responsibility again.
Weeks passed.
Then more.
The hidden phone stayed powered off.
Once every necessary message and date had been preserved for the adults to deal with, there was no reason to keep letting it buzz through the house like it still had authority over us.
I put it away.
Not because the truth disappeared when the screen went dark.
Because we already knew enough to stop building our lives around it.
One Saturday afternoon, I was sitting on the living-room floor with Miles while Tessa worked on something beside us.
Miles crawled toward her and reached for the sleeve of her hoodie.
