That evening, I decided to confront her.
I prepared dinner as usual, though I barely tasted anything. Every few minutes, I glanced at the clock.
At 3:45, I heard the front door open.
“I’m home!” Emily called.
I was waiting at the kitchen table.
“Hi, sweetheart. How was school?”
“The usual.”
She dropped her backpack beside the refrigerator and reached for an apple.
“Anything happen in English?”
She paused.
“Not really.”
“What about your friends?”
Her fingers tightened around the apple.
“What about them?”
“Nothing. I’m just asking.”
“Why?”
I studied her face.
“Because I’m your mother, Emily. I’m allowed to ask about your day.”
She let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Mom, seriously? Can I just eat my apple?”
“Of course. But before you disappear into your room, I need to talk to you about something.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“About what?”
I almost told her everything right there.
