Chapter 6 - A Seat at the Table
“Mom! Come sit down!” Sophie called out, waving her fork excitedly from her seat. “Ethan’s about to cut the turkey!”
“I’m coming, sweetie,” I smiled, pulling out the comfortable velvet chair at the head of the table.
Ethan looked up at me as I sat down, his brown eyes bright, clear, and utterly devoid of the vigilance that had haunted him six months ago at the Atoria Restaurant.
“Mom?” Ethan asked softly, holding the serving fork over the platter.
“Yes, Ethan?”
“Is this what family is supposed to feel like?”
The room fell quiet for a second. Marisol looked up, a soft, affectionate smile touching her lips. The warehouse managers nodded in quiet agreement.
I reached out, taking Ethan’s hand in my right hand and Sophie’s in my left.
“Yes, Ethan,” I said, my voice ringing clear and strong through the warm, fragrant air of the room. “Family isn't about whose name is on a gold banner or who sits at the head of an expensive table. Family is about making sure that no one you love ever has to ask if they belong.”
Ethan smiled—a big, beautiful, bright smile that lit up his whole face. He carved two thick, perfect slices of turkey and placed the very first piece on his sister’s plate.
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Outside, a quiet, gentle dusting of November snow began to fall against the windowpanes, shimmering like tiny diamonds beneath the streetlights of Lincoln Park.
Inside, the room was warm, the plates were full, and every single person at the table was exactly where they belonged.
