That night, after I left and walked back to our rented place, my head was full of a thousand small fears. Mark noticed the tightness in my mouth as soon as I closed the door.
“You okay?” he asked, concern immediate.
“Maybe,” I said. “Mom’s thinking about moving.” The words hit the table like a small, heavy stone.
He sat on the couch and put his head in his hands for a second before looking up. The truth on his face was open and practical: he understood the logistics as well as the ache. “That could be a lot,” he said. “For her. For us. For—everything.”
“Yeah.” My fingers fiddled with the edge of the tin box. “I want her to be happy, I do. But I’m afraid of losing the… quiet supports. It feels like we’re still trying to lay the foundation and now the cornerstone might move.”
Mark reach
