Amber’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Marcus stared at her.
Then he stepped back.
“Oh my God.”
“Marcus—”
“Is she?”
Amber looked at Ruth.
Ruth did not rescue her.
“Yes,” Amber whispered.
The room seemed to breathe again.
Not loudly.
Just a shifting of chairs and quiet exhalations.
Marcus looked as if someone had struck him.
“You told me she died before college.”
“I had reasons.”
“You told me she died when you were seventeen.”
“I know what I told you.”
“You said you didn’t have anyone.”
“I didn’t.”
Ruth’s expression changed.
That answer mattered.
Not because it was true.
Because Amber believed some version of it.
Marcus stared at his wife.
“You said you paid your own way through school because there was nobody left.”
“I did.”
Ruth said quietly, “No.”
Amber turned.
“Stay out of this.”
Marcus looked at Ruth.
“What do you know?”
Ruth glanced toward the kitchen doors.
There were women behind them she had known for nearly forty years.
Some still worked part-time.
Some had retired.
One had once slept in a church basement with two children because the restaurant where she worked had closed without warning and the owner never paid the last three weeks of wages.
That woman’s name was Loretta Hall.
Amber’s mother.
Ruth had not seen her in two years.
