Daniel's POV
My mother sits across from me, her expression calm, her lips curved into that familiar practiced smile. "Daniel, what happened?" she asks, as if she doesn't already know.
I lean back on the couch, my jaw tight, anger burning beneath my calm exterior. "Mom," I say quietly, "where is he?"
Her smile doesn't fade—it only deepens, feigning innocence. "Who are you talking about, son?"
I stare at her, unblinking. "You don't have to pretend. I know everything."
She sighs softly, the picture of composure. "Daniel, have you forgotten how to talk to your parents?"
My eyes locked on hers. "And you," I say, voice steady but sharp, "seem to have forgotten your lines."
Her smile wavers, but only for a second. "I don't know why you're angry, but I'm glad you came home," she says sweetly. "Let's eat dinner together."
She rises from her seat.
"Mom."
She pauses. "What?"
