Dorian requested an in-person meeting, and they chose a quiet cafe, because Marisol no longer wanted to have difficult conversations inside her own house.

He looked tired when he sat down across the small wooden table.

“Mom thinks you’re punishing her on purpose,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m ending a temporary living arrangement that should have ended nearly two years ago.” “She doesn’t have anywhere ready to live yet.” “Then she has plenty of time to arrange it, per the formal notice.” “You sound so cold, Marisol.” She considered that carefully.

“I sound clear, Dorian.