“Look.”

We turned.

Several framed photographs hung beneath the warm lights.

One showed a much younger Alaric standing inside a cramped kitchen.

Beside him was a young woman with thick brown hair and a huge smile.

My mother.

I walked closer.

Below the photograph was a small brass plaque.

It read:

FOR MOLLY, WHO TOLD ME I BELONGED IN A KITCHEN BEFORE I BELIEVED IT MYSELF.

Mom stared at it.

“You kept this?”

“Of course.”

Her eyes filled with tears again.

Part 3:

“You never told me.”

“You disappeared.”

Mom lowered her eyes.

“Life happened.”

“I know.”

Alaric glanced toward the kitchen.

“Give me five minutes.”

“For what?”

“Your actual dinner.”

Mom laughed.

“I’m not sure I can eat anything now.”