Oliver’s shoulders climbed toward his ears. Grace’s voice dropped. “The school called Mrs. Lawson. She asked me to go, since you had the board presentation. She didn’t want to worry you.”

A familiar irritation sparked—Amelia making decisions, smoothing the surface of their life so he could keep everything moving. Efficient. Infuriating. Protective. He exhaled slowly. “Where is she?”

“Stuck in traffic.” Grace hesitated. “She’ll be home soon.”

“What exactly did the school say?” Richard asked. “Is Oliver in trouble?”

“Not in trouble,” Grace said. “They suggested a follow-up. They also suggested an evaluation for dyslexia. Which”—she offered a small, apologetic smile—“I think would help.”

Richard blinked. “Dyslexia?”

“Oliver see words like puzzle pieces sometimes,” Oliver murmured, so soft Richard almost missed it. “Grace helps me.”