Richard told a ridiculous story about accidentally mistaking a zucchini for a cucumber at the gardening club.
Mom laughed so hard she snorted.
I hadn’t heard her laugh that way since Dad was alive.
Then she brought out dessert.
“Chocolate pie,” she announced. “I made it because my boyfriend said it was his favorite.”
Something changed in Richard’s expression.
Gratitude.
Guilt.
Maybe both.
Then he glanced at his watch.
7:26 p.m.
“Grace, I am so sorry, sweetheart. I have to go.”
The room went silent.
Mom’s smile slowly disappeared.
“Can’t you stay for 10 minutes? It’s my birthday, Richard.”
“I really can’t. I’m so sorry.”
He kissed her cheek, grabbed the tote, and left before anyone could stop him.
The chocolate pie sat untouched in the center of the table.
Mom sank into her chair.
She picked up her fork, then set it down again.
“Mom, are you okay?”
