while mashed potatoes went cold and still be found lacking. You learned to get ahead of it. You learned to have the table ready, the rolls covered, the coffee warming. You learned that effort, in this family, was not rewarded. It was simply what you owed them for being there.
Ryan stepped through the door with his tie loosened and his phone screen glowing. He did not look at the baby first. He did not look at her first. His eyes moved directly to the table, scanning it the way his mother’s eyes scanned rooms, assessing before settling, finding the small things that weren’t quite right.
That single look told her almost everything she needed to know.
“You’re late,” she said, not because she cared about the hour anymore, but because the old version of herself still knew how to begin a sentence gently, how to enter a conversation through
