The story continues

I’m asking you to come with us.” She turned to me. “You’ll regret this.” I looked her straight in the eye. “No.” She left, slamming the door. And suddenly the kitchen was quiet again. But this was a different kind of silence. Peaceful. Not threatening. My mother was still standing at the table. I walked over to her. “Mom…” She gently touched my cheek. “I’m sorry you saw that.” I shook my head. “No.” I took her hands. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen this for so long.” For the first time in a long time, she smiled faintly. “You know…” she said quietly. “When you were little, you always defended the weak.” I felt something inside me finally fall into place. Outside, the gate was slowly opening. A police car was pulling into the driveway. I glanced at my watch. I would definitely miss my flight to New York. But for the first time in years, it didn’t matter at all. Because that day, I’d lost a contract. But I’d regained something much more important. My mother. And himself.