By morning, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.
Evelyn and my mother arrived at ten forty-five, right on schedule. My mother arrived first, already speaking, already moving, her voice bright with a nervous optimism that had no room for hesitation. She crossed the threshold as if momentum alone could guarantee a good outcome, her hands full of garment bags, timelines, opinions she had rehearsed all week.
Evelyn followed behind her more slowly, her movements measured, careful, as though she was carrying the day on her shoulders and refused to let it tip. Their presence shifted the apartment immediately, voices and movement filling the space with warmth and purpose. Evelyn looked fragile but determined, her posture careful, her smile bright with resolve. My mother hovered, fussing, a
