As our kids lay in their beds, my wife, Catie, and I sat at our kitchen table one evening across from my parents under a pale light. It was May 2014. They had made the trip to our home in Kalamazoo, Mich., to see their grandchildren, but their visit was about to take a turn. They looked like they knew something was up: Their eyes darted back and forth between Catie and me. In a tiny crevice of my brain, hidden in a dark place, I was terrified that there was something very wrong with me.
