The silence is a relief. I let myself in and head straight for her room. Maybe, with him away we could have a proper sit-down dinner.
The light above the dresser draws my eye to the partially eaten pizza and open wine. She’s half slumped across the bed, one hand dramatically reaching for something. Her glass perhaps! I pull off her slippers, climb onto the bed, and drag up one leg after another. She mumbles, but is out cold soon. A gauche lipstick smudge mars her face. The pictures on the wall bear testament that she was once pretty, but years of drinking have robbed her of her youth.
“Goodnight mama,” I whisper, making my way to the cold pizza.