Another silence stretched.
Downstairs, we could hear faint bursts of laughter. Forks against plates. A cork popping.
Emily was home. She had been discharged this morning. The doctors said she was free to go.
A knock sounded on the door, light and playful.
My mom peeked in.
Hair wild. Eye bags on display. Pale, ashen skin. Eyes a little red around the rims. Even her lips were chapped.
She looked worn out and exhausted.
"You two lovebirds coming down for cake and wine or should we just send you a slice with two forks?" She tried to smile.
Roman smirked. I blushed.
"We’ll be right down," he said, voice calm and even.
“Don't take too long.” She playfully scolded us.
“And don't forget to get some rest, mom. You look tired.” I added.
“I will.”
She winked and shut the door.
