Dominique pulled into his driveway, the morning sun warm on his face, his mother's suitcase secure in the trunk. He glanced at her in the passenger seat. Still elegant, still composed, even after a long flight. Her dark blue eyes were fixed on his house, her expression unreadable.
"It's small," she said.
"It's cozy," he replied.
She didn't comment further, but her lips twitched slightly. That was as close to approval as Dom ever got from her.
He helped her out, grabbed her suitcase, and walked toward the front door. His mother followed, her heels clicking on the stone path, her presence somehow making the modest entrance feel like a palace.
Dom fumbled for his keys, his mind still half-asleep, still processing that his mother was here.
He reached for the handle.
It turned.
The door was already open.
