My mother when my father walked out

She nodded. “Good. Practical. Background?”

“Both parents. Teacher and doctor. They live out of state.”

Satisfied, she smiled—until I continued.

“She has a son. Aaron. He’s seven.”

She paused just long enough to be noticed. Sipped her wine. Set the glass down carefully.

“That’s a complicated situation.”

“She’s amazing,” I said. “And Aaron’s wonderful. He told me I was his favorite grown-up.”

“I’m sure she values support,” my mother replied coolly. “Reliable men are rare.”

She never said Anna’s name again that night.

Weeks later, I introduced them anyway.

We met at a small café near my place. Anna arrived late, apologizing, hair hastily tied back. Aaron stayed close, mesmerized by pastries behind the glass.