We wrapped our arms around her, reminding her that she had given us a loving childhood and that her marriage to Dad had been real, deep, and unshakable.
That night, there was no carefully prepared meal — just pizza boxes on the counter and mugs of tea passed from hand to hand. Yet somehow, it became one of the most meaningful dinners we’d ever shared. Before we left, Mom sent a message to the family group chat: “Dinner next Sunday, 6 p.m. Bring containers. And maybe a hug.”
