KNOXThe scent of mint tea lingered in the corners of my mother’s room, curling around old furniture, lace curtains, and the quiet tick of her antique clock. I knocked once, but she’d already seen me coming.“Come in, baby.”The door creaked as I pushed it open. Her voice always sounded the same—gentle, a little tired, but warm enough to undo every knot in my chest if I stayed long enough.She sat by the window with hands folded neatly over her lap, her wheelchair turned to face the garden outside. “You asked to see me?” I said, stepping closely behind her.With a gentle smile gracing her face, she turned toward me with a slow, practiced motion. “Knox. Sit.”There was no command in her tone. Just… a mother asking her son to talk and I knew damn well what she was about to talk about. I dropped into the velvet chair beside her, letting my shoulders sag. My mother always made room for my exhaustion. In here, I didn’t have to pretend.“I wanted to know how you’re doing,” she said, reach
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