I observed him over the rim of my mug. Michael was twenty-eight, a civil engineer at a small but honest firm. He was my serious child, the responsible one, the one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had never spoken about a girl with that kind of light in his eyes.
“And what does she do?” I asked, stirring my coffee.
“She studies architecture. She’s about to finish her degree. Her dad owns a big construction company, Harrison & Associates.”
The spoon froze in my hand. Harrison? The name rang a bell, echoing with a vague sense of notoriety I couldn’t quite place.
“Have you gotten to know her well?” I asked cautiously.
“Yes, Mom. We’ve been dating for three months. I want you to meet her. Can I bring her to dinner on Sunday?”
I accepted, of course. A mother’s heart always yields to her child’s happiness. And Michael seemed genuinely happy.
That Sunday, Sarah arrived. She was lovely—long dark hair, large expressive eyes, dressed simply but with an undeniable class. She greeted me with a hug that felt sincere. “Mrs. Carter,” she said, her voice soft and melodious, “thank you so much for having me in your home.”
