My mother, usually the silent counterpart in my parents’ dynamic, transformed before my eyes. Her demeanor shifted from passive to resolute, her eyes blazing with a determination I’d seldom seen. She placed a firm hand on my father’s arm, her touch surprisingly gentle yet commanding. “Enough, Richard,” she said, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of authority that left no room for argument.
He turned to her, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘enough’? He needs to be there!”
