Her voice was low and slow. It was the voice she used when a fight was coming. My chest tightened. The air felt thick. “There’s everything wrong with asking for help,” my dad snapped. “It means we’ve failed.” His voice had changed, too. It was sharp and hard. “We have not failed. We are doing the best we can.” My mom gave a frustrated groan. “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans, Tom.”
