She sighs, taking a seat across from me. "Strong doesn't mean invincible." Her weary smile carries years of weight. "But sometimes, what other choice is there than to be strong?" Her voice drops as her gaze shifts toward the hall where Ollie disappeared, carrying love and worry in equal measure. "But I appreciate it, sweetheart," she adds, her faint smile not quite reaching her eyes.

I recognize that smile—I've worn it myself like armor. One that hides too much, like ocean depths beneath calm surface. Mom's late-night conversations echo in my mind, fragments of Lydia's story pieced together like a broken mirror: a childhood home that was more battlefield than sanctuary, where silence meant safety and love spoke a foreign tongue. Her mother's abandonment left her with a father who drowned his pain in bottles, inflicting wounds deeper than skin.

The memory of Mom describing young Lydia, huddled in closet with a pillow pressed to her chest, trying to muffle her father's thunderous rage, makes my heart ache. She made herself a promise then, written in tears and determination: if she ever had children, she'd never abandon them. She'd protect them at any cost, even if it meant carrying scars that never fully healed. But life has a cruel sense of irony. Lydia married a man cut from the same cloth as her father—abusive and volatile. As if she believed such treatment was her birthright, clinging to whatever scraps of love she could gather. I see it in her occasional flinch at sudden movements, how her eyes track exits in crowded spaces.

She takes another sip of coffee, her hands trembling slightly as she sets the cup down.

"Nate mentioned he'll be at Sonder all day," she says, breaking the silence. "He's really changed since the beginning of summer." Her voice carries a weight I can't quite decipher.

I nod, unsure how to respond, feeling exposed under her knowing gaze. Does she see what's happening between Nate and me?

Whatever we are?

Her expression softens as she reaches across the table, her warm hand covering mine. The touch grounds me, and for a moment, I'm transported back to childhood. The scent of her vanilla lotion mingles with coffee in the morning air.

"Those boys of mine," she says gently, her thumb brushing over my knuckles in that motherly way that makes my chest ache, "they'd do anything for you."

I swallow hard and nod, feeling the truth of her words settle in my bones. The kitchen clock ticks steadily, marking each loaded second.

"Nate especially," she adds, her voice soft as a secret. Something in her tone makes me look up, meeting eyes that hold too much understanding. "He might not want to care about anyone, but he does. And despite his track record, there's only one girl who could actually make him really smile."

Heat rises to my cheeks as I stay quiet, letting her words sink in while the morning holds its breath around us.