“You are physically here,ot Matthew,” Elena said that night, her voice barely donn above a whisper, yet it cut through the quiet apartment like a razor

We hugged, but it felt stiff.

“Come inside, Matthew. You look exhausted,” she said, leading me into the kitchen, which smelled heavily of black coffee and old paper.

“I am, Mom,” I said, sitting down at the wooden table. I didn’t want to waste time. The emotional weight of the past week was crushing me, and I needed the tangible reassurance of my security. “Can we go to the valley bank before it closes at five? I want to get the paperwork sorted out today.”

My mother poured two mugs of coffee, her back turned to me. She didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched out, growing heavier with every passing second.

“Mom?” I prompted.

She turned around slowly, holding the mugs. She didn’t sit down. She stood by the counter, looking at me with an expression I had never seen on her face before. It wasn’t the fierce, protective look she usually wore. It was a look of profound, chilling detachmen