of a woman arriving for a scheduled inspection.
“Simon isn’t here,” I said.
“I came to talk to you.”
She placed her handbag on my coffee table. Not beside it. On it. Then she sat without asking.
I closed my laptop. “About what?”
“This apartment.”
My stomach tightened.
She folded her hands. “Graham and Elise need it. The twins will be here before we know it, and their current place is impossible. Stairs, no parking, no storage. This building has security and an elevator. It makes sense.”
“What makes sense?”
“That you move out.”
For a second, the room became so quiet I could hear the rain ticking against the glass.
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be dramatic, Nora. You work from home. You can work from a smaller place. Frankly, a woman without children does not need all this room.”
I stared at her neat hands, at the pale pink polish, at the wedding ring she still wore though her husband had been dead for six years. I noticed absurd little things because my anger had gone very calm.
“You want me to leave my apartment,” I said, “so Graham and Elise can move into it.”
“I want you to think about the family.”
“And Simon?”
“He can decide what is best for him. But this home should not be wasted.”
That word landed hardest.
Wasted.
The place I paid for with late nights, weekend audits, migraine medication, and missed vacations was wasted because I did not have a crib in the second bedroom.
“Who do you think pays for this home?” I asked.
Evelyn’s mouth tightened. “There is no need to be vulgar.”
“Answer me.”
“Simon handles the serious responsibilities.”
“He told you that?”
She tilted her head. “He doesn’t need to. A mother knows her son.”
The door opened behind her. Simon stepped in, damp from rain, holding a paper bag of bagels and two coffees. He looked from his mother to me and stopped.
Evelyn stood. “Good. You’re here. I’ve told Nora it’s time to make a sensible plan. Graham and Elise should have the apartment before the twins come.”
Simon’s fingers tightened around the bag.
I waited.
The air seemed to gather around him, offering one final bridge. He could laugh and say his mother had misunderstood. He could say, “Mom, Nora pays the rent.” He could say, “This is our home, and you are out of line.”
Instead, he looked at the floor.
“Can we all just calm down?”
Evelyn exhaled, satisfied.
I was not crying. That surprised me. I did not tremble. I did not shout. Something inside me simply stepped back, looked at the life I had been defending, and saw it clearly for the first time.
I walked to the counter, picked up my phone, and opened a moving company’s website.
Simon blinked. “What are you doing?”
“Being sensible.”
Evelyn scoffed. “Don’t perform.”
“I’m not performing.” I selected next-day service. “I’m leaving.”
Simon followed me into the bedroom while his mother called after us that I was proving her point. He shut the door behind him.
“Nora, stop. You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t just book movers because my mom said something stupid.”
I turned on him. “She said something stupid because you built a lie comfortable enough for her to sit in.”
His
