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For the rest of the afternoon, I forget about Alex as I clean my mom’s apartment, do the laundry, air all the rooms, and cook spaghetti. Throughout the afternoon, my phone lights up with text messages from Alex demanding to know where I am, but I delete them without replying. My whereabouts are none of his business.

I’m cleaning the mess I’ve made in the kitchen with my homemade tomato sauce when a new message comes in from him.

Katerina, just let me know you’re safe. Please.

I frown at the sinister note of the text. Overprotective much? Maybe he’s overreacting because of the mugging. Picking up my phone, I type a quick reply. I don’t want to go down the non-dating road with him again, but letting him worry is cruel.

I’m fine.

I hesitate with my finger on the screen, contemplating my words.

Please don’t contact me again.

I stare at my phone for a whole ten seconds after hitting send, but nothing appears. No reply. He finally got the message. Good. Right? Then why does my chest ache so much it’s hard to breathe?

Shaking it off, I set the table and fold the laundry as I wait.

The taxi pulls up to the apartment at almost eight. The sight of my mom when she emerges shocks me. She’s bent over, looking ninety instead of forty-three. I hurry outside to meet her. Fishing out a bill from my pocket, I pay the driver and take her arm to steady her while he gets her bag from the trunk.

“Thank you,” I say to the driver, taking her suitcase in one hand and offering my arm to help her to the door.

Renewed anger toward Martin bubbles up inside me. How could he let her leave alone like this?

“Mom,” I say, close to tears when we’re inside. “You should’ve told me it was this bad.”

She waves a hand, the gesture stiff. “It’s been worse. Gosh, am I glad to be home.”

“Come on.” I lead her to the kitchen and help her sit down at the table. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good.” I force a tremulous smile onto my face. “I made spaghetti.”

“Mm.” She flinches as she shifts into a comfortable position. “After all that fancy seafood, pasta is exactly what I crave.”

I dish up the food for both of us, keeping a close eye on her. When I’m seated opposite her, I say, “We should call your doctor. I think he needs to up the dose of your medication.”

“There isn’t much he can do. It’s just the way this illness goes. We simply have to accept and adjust.”

The speech is supposed to make me feel better when she’s the one who needs the comforting. The words of solace I want to offer get stuck with the tears in my throat. I don’t utter them because they won’t make a difference. They’re just empty, meaningless words. Helplessness engulfs me as I watch her try to wind the spaghetti around her fork. After two failed attempts, I can’t just sit and look any longer.

“Here.” I take the chair next to her. “Let me.”

Our roles are reversed as I feed my mom just like she used to feed me at this very table when I was little. The scene breaks my heart, but I keep the conversation upbeat for her benefit. It’s hard enough for her as is. She doesn’t need the burden of my sorrow on top of everything else.

“So,” she says when we’re sipping herbal tea in the living room after dinner, “it looks like we’re both back in the dating game.” She adds with a wink, “We should try double-dating.”

That makes me break out in a laugh. “Ugh, Mom. Please. I don’t want to be on a date with you.”

She makes a shocked face. “You hurt my feelings. No, but seriously, now that I’m back, I should set you up on a date.”

“Later, okay? I have too much on my plate at work.”

“You work too hard. You’re young and pretty. You should go out and have some fun. You deserve some fun. Let me arrange a blind date with Phillip for you. He’s a really nice guy, and the two of you have a lot in common.”

“Your physiotherapist? That Phillip?”

“Yes. He’s handsome and single, and he’s very interested in meeting you.”

“Please tell me you haven’t discussed me with him.”

“Just your positive attributes, like how beautiful you are, that you’re a kind and generous person, that you work in the medical profession like him, and that you have a very sexy body.”

“Mom!”

“What?” She shrugs. “It’s the truth.”

“You sound like a walking billboard advertisement. You’ve overpromised, and now I’ll underdeliver.”

She gives me a shrewd look. “Is that a yes?”

“No!”

“Oh, come on. What can it hurt? Just have drinks with him.”

“We’ll see.” I check my watch. “I have to get to bed soon. I have an early shift tomorrow.” There’s no way I’m leaving her alone tonight, not when she’s in this state. “Is it okay if I sleep over? It’ll allow me to catch an extra hour of sleep.”

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