Chapter 2 - The Face of Grace
Through the screen door, I saw my mother, Helen, smiling warmly as she adjusted the foil-covered casserole dish in her hands. She looked immaculate as always, her silver-streaked hair styled in soft waves, her floral blouse pressed to perfection.
She had given everything to our family after Rowan passed. When my husband, David, threw himself into his architecture work to numb the agony, Mom was the one who sat with me through the long, sleepless nights. She held my hand when I cried in the empty nursery.
Yet, as my hand clamped around the silver bracelet in my pocket, every memory of her comforting presence suddenly warped into something suffocating.
I pulled the door open, forcing a tight, trembling smile to my lips.
"Mom. You're here," I said, stepping back to let her into the cool, air-conditioned foyer.
"Of course I'm here, sweetheart," Mom replied, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. Her skin felt cool, her familiar lavender perfume wrapping around me like a trap. "The boys are growing up so fast out there. Mason looks so much like David did at eighteen, doesn't he? And Leo..." She paused, her eyes darting sharply to my face. "Nora, you look like you've seen a ghost. Are you alright?"
"I just... I'm a little tired," I murmured, taking the heavy dish from her hands and placing it on the entry table. "It's a big day. Eighteen years."
"Oh, I know," Mom sighed, her expression softening into the picture of maternal sympathy that had comforted me for nearly two decades. She reached out and patted my arm. "I know how hard today is for you, thinking about Rowan. But you were blessed with two strong, healthy boys, Nora. We buried our sorrow a long time ago. It's time to celebrate the living."
Her words, usually a soothing balm, now felt like a warning. We buried our sorrow.
She had handled the hospital paperwork. She had spoken to the doctors when I was sedated and broken. She had been the one to bring us the devastating news that midnight that Rowan's tiny heart had given out.
"Mom," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Did you stay the whole night at the hospital? The night Rowan passed?"
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Mom’s hand paused on my arm. The warmth in her eyes flickered for a fraction of a second—just a micro-expression of hesitation—before her practiced, comforting smile settled back into place.
"Of course I did, darling. I never left your side," she said smoothly. "You were completely exhausted. Why are you asking me that now?"
