“I don’t want to go, Lana.”
Lena’s voice was tired, worn thin, the kind of tired that no amount of sleep could fix. She sat on the couch with her back supported by pillows, one hand resting protectively over her swollen belly, the other gripping the fabric of her dress as if grounding herself.
Lana stood near the window, arms crossed, watching her sister with concern. “Len, I understand why you feel this way,” she said gently. “I really do.”
“No, you don’t,” Lena replied, shaking her head slowly. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t even suggest it. Showing up there feels like a betrayal. Of her.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “After everything Mom went through to raise us alone, after how much she sacrificed… how am I supposed to sit in a room and listen to people talk about the leg
