My sister’s son hurled a dinner fork at me and declared, “Mom says you’re basically the help.” The table erupted in laughter. I was gone before dessert ever reached the plates.

“Pay on time,” I said. “And don’t ever put that word in your kid’s mouth again.”

Jessica nodded fiercely. “Never.”

When I left that night, the air was colder. My breath puffed out in small clouds. Jessica walked me to the door. Aiden hovered behind her, half hiding in the hallway. When I glanced at him, he lifted his hand in a small, awkward wave.

I lifted my hand back.

Emma was asleep upstairs. My mother was saying goodbyes in the living room, her voice subdued. Uncle Robert was loudly discussing football with someone as if trying to restore the universe to normal.

At the doorway, Jessica hesitated.

“Book club is next month,” she said, voice tentative. “If you still want to come.”

It was a small sentence that carried years of exclusion. The book club she’d “forgotten” to invite me to, the one she insisted was “more of a couples thing,” even though it was mostly women sipping wine and pretending they read the books.

“Text me the details,” I said. “We’ll see.”

She nodded, accepting the noncommittal answer without pouting, without pushing.

That alone was progress.