The woman looked around.
Nobody defended her.
Mom finished:
“It would still make you cruel.”
The woman muttered something under her breath and walked out.
The door shut behind her.
Then Mom sat down.
Her hands immediately began shaking harder.
I reached for them.
“Mom.”
She laughed weakly.
“I think I need a minute.”
“You were incredible.”
“I was terrified.”
“Those things can happen at the same time.”
She squeezed my fingers.
Alaric sat back down beside us.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then he looked at the half-eaten tiramisu.
“That’s your birthday dinner?”
“It came first.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I’m sixty-five,” Mom said.
He laughed.
“Still doing things backward.”
“Apparently.”
Alaric stood.
“Give me five minutes.”
“For what?”
“Your actual dinner.”
“I’m not sure I can eat now.”
“Then you’ll take it home.”
He disappeared through the kitchen doors.
When he returned, he carried the plate himself.
Fresh pasta.
Roasted vegetables.
Warm bread.
