Lincoln’s POV
By Thursday morning, the birthday decorations were packed into the attic, and the house had returned to its spotless state.
I was at the kitchen counter packing Ethan and Evan’s lunchboxes when Archie walked in. He was dressed for work—charcoal trousers, crisp white shirt, no tie yet—holding a mug of black coffee. He looked tired, with faint shadows bruised beneath his eyes.
"Archie," I said, snapping the lid onto a container of apple slices. "I wanted to give you a heads-up about the weekend. If it works with the schedule, I’m planning to take Saturday off. Ryan invited me out to his family’s place on the coast."
Archie’s hand stilled on his mug. For a second, his posture went as rigid as a marble column, his jaw locking into a tight line.
He didn't look at me. He just
