By afternoon, I was exhausted and uncomfortable, counting down the hours until I could go home and collapse on my couch.

Then my phone rang. It was my sister, Brenda, and her voice carried that particular edge that always meant trouble. “Family meeting at Mom and Dad’s house. 6:00 PM. Be there.” She hung up before I could ask questions.

I should have known something was wrong. Brenda only used that tone when she was orchestrating something, and family meetings were never called unless there was a crisis. But I was too tired and in too much pain to read the warning signs properly. I just wanted to get whatever this was over with so I could go home.