parents were already in the living room, seated with wineglasses as if waiting for a performance. Her father, Victor Lang, rose halfway and gave Nora a nod. Her mother, Celeste, smiled without showing teeth. Marissa’s brother, Dane, lounged near the fireplace scrolling on his phone.
Two of Marissa’s friends were there too, women with glossy hair and matching expressions of polite disinterest.
Nora held the baby gift closer.
“How lovely to see everyone,” she said.
Marissa glanced at the package. “What is that?”
“A family keepsake.”
Marissa’s smile tightened. “We’re trying to avoid old silver. Safety concerns.”
“It’s only a remembrance,” Nora said. “You don’t have to use it.”
Caleb reached for the gift. “I’ll put it somewhere safe.”
Marissa watched him take it, and Nora saw irritation pass across her face. Small, quick, but unmistakable.
Lunch was served at twelve-thirty.
The dining room had been arranged with the kind of care meant to impress outsiders. Crystal glasses, folded linen napkins, candles in tall holders. Everyone’s place setting matched except Nora’s. Her plate was plain white, chipped at the rim. Her glass was shorter. Her fork had a dark mark near the handle.
Caleb noticed. Nora saw him notice.
He opened his mouth, then closed it when Marissa touched his wrist.
That small surrender hurt more than the plate.
Conversation began with the baby. Marissa announced the pregnancy again, this time with one hand on her stomach and her chin tilted just so, as if posing for a portrait.
Celeste dabbed her eyes. Victor raised his glass. Dane said, “Finally, something interesting around here.”
Nora smiled and said all the right things. She congratulated them. She asked how Marissa was feeling. She asked whether they had heard the heartbeat.
Marissa answered each question as though Nora were a distant acquaintance.
“We’re using a private clinic,” she said. “Very selective. Caleb and I want the best.”
“Of course,” Nora replied.
Caleb barely spoke. He cut his chicken into small pieces and kept glancing between his wife and his mother.
Nora had spent years reading rooms. She had managed employees, negotiated contracts, sat beside Arthur through meetings where men underestimated her until she quietly corrected their numbers. She knew when a conversation was not a conversation but a corridor leading to a locked door.
Marissa was waiting for the right moment.
It came after dessert, which Nora had not brought.
Celeste complimented the nursery plans. Victor spoke about school districts. One of Marissa’s friends mentioned waitlists for elite preschools before the baby was even born.
Marissa set down her spoon.
“Nora, this is actually a good time to discuss something.”
Caleb’s shoulders tightened.
Nora placed both hands in her lap. “All right.”
Marissa looked around the table, gathering an audience.
“With the baby coming, Caleb and I need to be realistic about our finances, our time, and our emotional bandwidth.”
Nora nearly smiled at the phrase. Emotional bandwidth. Marissa collected language the way she collected handbags, choosing whatever made selfishness sound therapeutic.
“I understand,” Nora said.
“I don’t think you do,” Marissa replied. “You’ve been leaning on Caleb for years.”
A flush rose up Caleb’s neck.
Nora looked at him. “Is that what you think?”
He swallowed. “Mom, it’s not that simple.”
Marissa continued before he could say more.
“You live alone.
