It felt strange coming home again after everything that had unfolded—the betrayal, the spectacle, the quiet aftermath that followed like a storm’s trailing wind. I haven’t seen mom days after the whole drama occured.

The moment I stepped into the living room, the smell of my mother’s cooking wrapped around me like a memory—soft, familiar, and impossibly safe. It was almost enough to make me forget what the world outside looked like now. Almost.

She was waiting for me, sitting on the ...