Clara drove home from the graduation ceremony alone.
The diploma sat on the passenger seat.
She kept glancing at it like it might disappear.
Her phone buzzed.
A text from Sophie: “Mom.
We need to talk.”
Clara pulled over.
Her hands were still shaking.
She typed back: “I called you this morning.”
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
“Grandma told me something.
About why you left.”
Clara stared at the screen.
Left?
She never left.
She was right there the whole time.
“Can I come over?” Sophie sent.
Clara sent her address and sat in the parked car for twenty minutes.
When Sophie knocked, Clara opened the door and saw her daughter’s face — guarded, suspicious, the same look Margaret always wore before an argument.
“You graduated,” Sophie said flatly, looking at the diploma on the kitchen counter.
“Yes.”
