She huffed, clearly irritated by my silence. “Fine,” she said, glancing at me with impatience. “You’re here anyway. I brought groceries. You can cook for him here, and I’ll take him to the hospital afterward. Once you’ve made the soup, put it in a thermos and bring it over, alright?”

The coldness in her voice, the entitlement—it was too much. I shook her hand off when she reached out to push me inside.

“Naomi,” I said firmly, “why don’t you tell them who really owns this place?”

……