Sebastian had a bag slung over his arm. I recognized it at once as the restaurant's signature dish: a stew of baked cod piperade, mussels, and chorizo. His colleagues stood beside him.Sebastian hated the smell of fish.Half a year ago…My mother brought our hometown's signature snack when she visited me: fish pies. They were baked to a golden crisp and filled with haddock and prawns, with almost no trace of a fishy odor.Sebastian still threw a tantrum. He did not care that my mother was watching when he dumped every last one into the trash."If I see anything related to fish at home again, we're breaking up!" he shouted at me, his voice sharp with threat.My mother said nothing. By evening, she had bought a train ticket home, claiming she was worried about a possible flash flood.On the way back, she called me and asked in a small voice, "I'm so sorry I messed up, Pumpkin. I caused trouble for the two of you, didn't I?"…I remembered how anxious she had sounded, how heavy h
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