we have dinner at Mom and Dad’s Sunday? Mom’s making roast.
She replied, “Of course 🩷”
I hated the heart.
Sunday dinner had been normal in our family for years.
That week, it became something else.
I cooked anyway.
Roast. Potatoes. Green beans.
At 5:40, Daniel arrived alone.
He stood beside me in the kitchen.
“You ready?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
At six, Jenna arrived.
She kissed my cheek. “Hi, Carol.”
Mark came downstairs a few minutes later.
He saw Daniel.
Then Jenna.
Then me.
For one second, nobody spoke.
Something
