The next morning carried a strange calm.
Not peaceful—just quieter than the storm the sisters had survived the night before.
Maya made breakfast without her usual commentary.
Dianne moved around the kitchen with soft steps, trying not to disturb the fragile peace.
They weren’t angry anymore.
But the air still felt delicate.
Like one wrong word could break the truce.
When Dianne’s phone buzzed on the counter, both sisters looked at it.
Roy.
Good morning.
Are you okay?
Maya raised a brow. “Are you going to answer him?”
Dianne hesitated. “Do you want me not to?”
“I want you,” Maya said slowly, “to do what you want. Not what you think I want.”
It was progress.
Dianne breathed out, relieved.
She typed back:
Good morning. I’m fine.
Thank you for checking.
Almost immediately:
