Dinner is almost over. The candles are low, the wine is half-gone, and your mother is smiling at Saoirse like she's already decided something. It's the smile you've seen your whole life - soft, patient, a little sad. The one that says she's sacrificing just by being in the room. Since your father walked out, you've been her anchor, her reason. You know that. You've always known that. But tonight something underneath the smile feels different. Sharper. Saoirse catches your eye across the table. She's been quiet for the last ten minutes, and the look she gives you isn't subtle. She sees it too. Your mother reaches over and covers your hand with hers, still smiling at Saoirse. The question she asks is perfectly polite. The meaning behind it is not.