That afternoon she looked too tired to negotiate where she sat.
I went back to the kitchen.
Their mother was standing near the counter with both hands pressed flat against it.
“It isn’t what you think,” she said.
I looked at the hidden phone.
“I haven’t told you what I think.”
Sofas & Armchairs
“Grant—”
“Who is R?”
She didn’t answer.
The phone buzzed again.
Neither of us touched it at first.
Then the screen lit up with another preview.
R: “Are you coming back?”
A second message arrived under it.
R: “You said he wouldn’t be there until tonight.”
Their mother reached for the phone.
I moved it back, not dramatically, just far enough that she stopped.
“This belongs to me,” she said.
“Maybe it does. But those messages mention me. They mention Tessa. They mention leaving my kids here.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“I needed a break.”
