The knock on my family’s door makes the Easter wreath jolt in annoyance. My father told me that Tim still hasn’t been in touch at all, but it does nothing to suppress my feelings of impending doom.
“Darling, I’m so happy you’re home for Easter, here let me get your bag!” My dad celebrates, while taking mine and Luis’ luggage along, and placing them at the bottom of the stairs.
Mother comes out of the kitchen, carrying a pot of tea, four cups, a milk jug and pot of sugar. She gives me a small smile, before directing us all to the kitchen table.
I notice the gluten-free angel cakes that are under the class dome, to avoid cross-contamination. Actions are how my mother expresses her love, and I smile at the effort she has made. When we are all settled, mother asks if we can speak freely,
