Lena Moore had spent the whole morning drifting through her apartment in a daze.

Near noon, as she absentmindedly chopped vegetables, her phone rang. The doctor’s voice on the other end delivered a sentence that hollowed her out completely:

Her mother, Elara Moore, had passed away.

He repeated it twice, but Lena still needed a moment to understand. After the call ended, she sank into a kitchen chair, unable to cry, unable to process anything beyond the ringing in her ears. The apartment felt unbearably silent.

Later that afternoon, the front door opened. Her husband, Darius Collins, stepped in, exhausted and tense from work. He loosened his tie, distracted.

“Lena… why isn’t dinner started yet?” he asked, not noticing her swollen eyes. “Mr. Maxwell Grant is coming tonight. This dinner could determine my promotion.”