The soft click echoed into the hallway. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish and old wood. Familiar. Distant. Painful.
From inside, a warm voice called out, "Leon?"
His mother appeared from the corner, apron dusted with flour. Her eyes lit up as soon as she saw them.
"Oh," she smiled, stepping forward, arms open. "You brought him."
Billy nodded, his expression softening. She hugged him quickly, then pulled back and looked at Artur.
"You're welcome Artur. Thank you for coming," she said gently.
Artur gave a small bow, nervous but respectful. "Thank you for having me."
Her smile lingered, a little sad at the edges. "Camila's out with friends. It's just us tonight."
Then her eyes flickered toward the living room.
Billy followed her gaze.
There he was. His father, sitting in his usual chair. One arm resting on the polished woodrest, the other holding the evening paper, though his eyes hadn't moved from the doorway since they entered.
