Sunday night. 9:14 p.m.
The apartment was quiet when I arrived.
My mother was in the kitchen. Tea again. Two mugs. Waiting.
She looked up when I entered.
"Alex."
"Mama."
I sat.
She didn't speak at first.
Just stared at her mug.
Then:
"I met someone."
I waited.
"A man. Tomasz. From the park. We've… talked. A lot."
I nodded.
"He's kind. Gentle. Makes me laugh."
"Good."
She looked at me, searching.
"You don't sound surprised."
"I'm not."
She frowned.
"You knew?"
"I arranged it."
Silence.
Heavy.
She set the mug down.
"Why?"
"To make you happy."
She laughed small, bitter.
"And to make me stop asking questions."
I met her eyes.
"Yes."
She closed them.
Tears.
"You paid him?"
"No. I cleared his debts. Gave him incentive. The rest… he did himself."
She stood.
Walked to the sink.
Back turned.
"You're my son. How could you?"
I stood too.
"Because you were going to keep digging. And I can't have that."
She turned.
Face wet.
"I'm your mother."
