I stood near the couch, palms damp, heart racing with fragile hope, waiting for outrage, concern, protection—anything that resembled the parents who once stood firmly against injustice. Instead, my mother adjusted her blazer with mechanical precision, her expression calm but distant.
“We should leave,” she said quietly.
“Mom,” I whispered, my voice breaking under disbelief, but she had already turned away.
They walked past me, still holding the untouched dinner, their steps steady, their exit swift. The front door closed with a soft click that echoed in my head like something permanently shattered. Evan’s laughter filled the silence immediately, sharp and triumphant, as he raised his beer in a mocking salute.
