Her smile widened. "Just think about it! Fresh start. Good schools. Jack makes good money—he’s in tech. You could go to college out there."

"I’m already in school. Iris is already in school."

"Better schools," she pressed. "And you wouldn’t have to work so hard. Jack said he’d help-."

"Let me get this straight. You walk out, disappear on us, and now you want us to move across the country to live with some guy we’ve never met?"

Her smile faltered. "It’s not like that. Jack is special."

"They’re all special, Mom. Until they’re not."

Iris returned with three mugs of tea on a tray. "I made chamomile," she announced. "For calming. We all need calming."

She set the tray on her desk and handed out mugs. I took mine automatically, though I had zero interest in tea right then.

"Now," Iris said, settling herself cross-legged on the floor, mug cupped between her palms. "Mom was telling me about California."

"We’re not going to California," I said. The words came out flat, matter-of-fact. There was no room for negotiation in my tone.

"You haven’t even heard all the details," Diana protested. She shifted on the bed, leaning forward like she could close the distance between us with body language alone.

"I don’t need to." I took a sip of the tea. It was too hot. I set it back down.

"Isaiah Marcus Angelo." She pulled out my full name like it was a weapon she still knew how to wield, like she still had the authority to make it mean something. "I’m still your mother."

"Are you?" The question came out sharper than I intended. I met her eyes, held them. "Because mothers don’t leave their kids with a text message. They don’t steal money from their emergency fund. They don’t disappear for months then show up expecting everything to be fine."

Diana flinched. Good. She should.

"I made mistakes," she admitted, and her voice wavered just enough to sound genuine. "I’m trying to fix them now."

"By taking us away from our home? From Iris’s friends? From my school?" I gestured vaguely toward the door. "My job?"

"You shouldn’t have to work so hard." For a second, just a second, she almost sounded like she cared. Like this actually mattered to her. "You’re eighteen. You should be enjoying life."

"I’m enjoying it just fine."

She looked at me like I’d told her the sky was green. Skeptical didn’t even begin to cover it. "Working multiple jobs and raising your sister? That’s enjoyment?"

"Better than wondering when you’re going to disappear again."

The words landed like a physical blow. I could see it in the way Diana’s shoulders tensed, in the way her breath caught. Her eyes filled with tears. Real ones or calculated, I could never tell with her anymore.

"I won’t," she whispered, and her voice cracked on the second word. "Not this time. Jack’s different. He’s stable. He wants a family."

"We already have a family." I kept my voice level, even though there was a knot forming in my chest. "Me and Iris. We’re doing fine."

"But you could do better than fine," she insisted. Her hands twisted together in her lap. "You could thrive. Both of you. Fresh air, good schools, a real house with a yard. Jack’s place has three bedrooms—you’d each have your own space. And you wouldn’t have to work yourself to death just to keep the lights on."

I glanced at Iris. She was staring down at her tea, but I could see it on her face. The hope. The terrible, fragile hope that this time Mom meant it. That this time she’d stay. That this time she’d actually be the mother Iris had always deserved.

But I’d been through this cycle too many times. I knew how this story ended.

"Iris," I said, setting down my untouched tea on the windowsill. "Can I talk to Mom alone for a minute?"

Iris hesitated, then nodded. "I’ll be in the kitchen."

When she was gone, I turned to Diana.

"You can visit," I said quietly. "You can call. You can text. But we’re not moving to California with you and some guy we’ve never met."

"Isaiah—"

"No. Iris is doing well here. I’m doing well. We have a system that works."

"A system where you’re killing yourself working multiple jobs?" She shook her head. "That’s not healthy."

"And living with a stranger is?"

"Jack’s not a stranger to me."

"He is to us." I leaned forward. "And let’s be real. How long until he’s gone too? How long until you find someone new? Someone better? Someone who makes different promises?"

She recoiled like I’d slapped her. "That’s not fair."

"Isn’t it? How many times have we done this, Mom? How many times have you left and come back with some new guy who was going to fix everything?"

"Jack is different."

"They’re all different until they’re the same."

She stood, anger replacing the tears. "You don’t get to judge me. You don’t know how hard it’s been."

"I don’t?" I laughed, and it sounded hollow even to my ears. "I’ve been cleaning up your messes since I was ten. I’ve been making excuses for you since I could talk. I’ve been protecting Iris from knowing just how often you weren’t there."

"I’m trying to make it right!"

"No," I said, standing too. "You’re trying to make yourself feel better. There’s a difference."

We stared at each other, the air thick with eighteen years of history.

"You can stay for dinner," I finally said. "For Iris’s sake. But we’re not moving to California."

I walked out, leaving her staring after me. In the kitchen, Iris was pretending not to eavesdrop.

"Is she staying?" she asked, not looking at me.

"For dinner."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. "Are we moving to California?"

"No."

"Oh." She fiddled with a dish towel. "Okay."

I couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed. Maybe both.

"She can visit," I said, softening my tone. "And you can talk to her. But our home is here."

Iris nodded, finally meeting my eyes. "I know. I just... I miss having a mom sometimes."