She sat across from him, pushing a plate of sliced apples toward him—a habit from his toddler years that she had never quite outgrown. Leo laughed, taking a slice. He remembered the years of scraped knees, the endless soccer practices where she was the loudest voice in the stands, and the quiet nights she spent helping him with history projects.

"I used to think of you as my anchor," Leo said softly. "The thing that kept me from drifting away."

"Just thinking about how much has changed," Leo admitted. He was twenty-five now, with a career in the city and a life that felt increasingly complex. "When I was ten, I thought you knew everything because you were a 'mom.' Now I realize you just knew everything because you're you ."