Mum wrapped her arm around my shoulders and gave them a tight squeeze as we watched Tom's taxi pull away. We stood together in the middle of the garden even after the dust of the road had settled, until eventually, with another gentle squeeze, she steered me toward the house.

We spent the rest of the day in the kitchen—Mum cooking up something smelling heavily of garlic, while I merely sat at the kitchen table staring at the pages of a favorite novel. Mum was tactful enough not to say anything, but I could still feel her constantly watching me.

I wasn't sure what she was watching for—if there was some dramatic reaction she was expecting me to have to Tom's departure—and, to be honest, I didn't really care. He was gone, and I simply didn't have the energy to perform whatever act she or anyone else expected of me.

Tom eventually texted me to say he had arrived back in London, and I quietly excused myself to sort out my room. The state of it hadn't improved much while Tom was visiting, though we did manage to clear a pathway from the bed to the door.

I clomped up the stairs and, with a heavy sigh, resolved to finally unpack.