She had been made to doubt her own usefulness, and now she was testing the edges of it again.

When we finished, she brought out the lemon cake from the fridge.

It had sunk in the center, and the icing was crooked.

“It’s ugly,” she declared.

“It’s perfect.”

“Don’t lie just because I’m your mother.”

We both laughed hard enough that she had to sit down.

Later that night she told me it was the first time she’d laughed like that in almost a year.