The ride to Joan's house was quiet, my mother dozing against Dad's shoulder in the backseat while I sat up front beside the driver. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't help noticing how naturally Dad supported my mother, his arm gentle but secure around her shoulders, his expression tender as he watched her sleep.
When we arrived, Andrew helped my mother upstairs to her bedroom while I followed slowly behind, my pregnant body making the climb more challenging than I cared to admit.
As Andrew settled my mother on the bed, adjusting pillows behind her back with practiced ease, I found myself wondering about their life before—before the gambling, before the abandonment. Had they always been this in tune with each other?
"I'll go get your medications," Andrew said, pressing a kiss to my mother's forehead. "You rest."
My mother caught his hand. "Stay," she pleaded softly. "Just a little longer."
