“Let’s hope we don’t get charged,” I teased.
Ethan laughed lightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He said he just wanted to do something nice. That was exactly what unsettled me. It wasn’t love—it was performance. For weeks, I’d noticed a change. Not warmth, but precision. As if he was editing himself, preparing for something final.
We sat down. The food tasted normal, maybe overly seasoned. Ethan barely ate, focused on his phone. Ryan talked about school, about a game, about a boy who fell at recess. Then the heaviness started—my mouth, my limbs, my entire body.
Ryan looked at me. “Mom… I don’t feel right.”
Ethan touched his shoulder gently. “Just tired. Rest.”
I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I collapsed, pulling the tablecloth slightly as I fell. Ryan followed, his small body crumpling. Darkness crept in—but I refused it. I stayed still, listening.
