already told me.”
“What did she discover?”
“That you look at what actually matters.”
He tilted his head.
“And what actually matters?”
I smiled.
“Me.”
“Yes.”
His answer came immediately.
“You are.”
“Ready to go home?”
“Yes.”
I climbed into the car.
James drove.
The city passed beyond the windows, cold and bright beneath the March sky.
And I kept thinking about my mother.
A woman who had spent four decades walking into rooms where people underestimated her.
And instead of becoming angry, she paid attention.
She listened.
She learned.
