"Now that your mind is calm," she began, her voice steady—like a thread trying to hold together fraying fabric—yet it still held that unmistakable softness only a mother could carry, "let's continue our conversation."
Alex remained motionless. His hands had finally stopped trembling, fingers now curled loosely over his knees, but the crushing tightness in his chest lingered, like a hand pressing down on his lungs. His throat felt dry. Still, he listened—because how could he not?
"As I said before, it wasn't your fault, so don't let it bring you down."
Her eyes, gentle just moments before, gradually hardened—not with anger, but with something more controlled. A resolve forged in silence and sorrow. The warmth in her voice cooled like cooling embers, and her expression shifted from the fragile tenderness of a mother to the unreadable calm of someone who had long since accepted the storm that never stopped.
"Now… to the real issue."
Something in the room changed.
