months earlier.
Rachel had called from the furniture showroom because the one they wanted was “just a little outside the budget,” and I covered the difference without embarrassing them.
I still remembered David hugging me afterward and saying, “You always come through, Mom.”
Back then, I’d been happy to hear it.
Standing at their sink with someone else’s plates in my arms, those words sounded different.
Sunday dinner had become routine so gradually that I couldn’t say when I stopped being treated like a guest.
I usually arrived around four
