“I picked up a few things for you, Mom. You mentioned your back was hurting.”
Had she said that? Perhaps.
The amounts grew. The excuses multiplied. Margaret felt a quiet unease settle in her chest but ignored it. She had learned that speaking doubt aloud could damage things irreparably.
The dinner that changed everything was meant to be a celebration. Andrew had promised “good news from work.” Margaret baked lemon bars, sprinkled powdered sugar just before leaving so they’d appear fresh.
The house smelled of basil and garlic. Emma waved from the couch. Lucas was absorbed in his tablet. Vanessa moved efficiently, setting plates and adjusting candles.
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