The smell of coffee finally lured me out of my sadness, the distraction welcome from my worries about Quaid and me. I had only just turned to pour myself a cup, deliberately looking away from his half empty mug so I wouldn't be reminded of the last few minutes, when Mom's magic gently touched mine.
Sweetheart, she sent.
Hey, Mom. I had to clench against the need to gush everything at her. Funny, no matter how old I grew I think I'd always have this kind of reaction. She was my mother, after all. The one I could turn to when I needed emotional support the most. I could be an all-powerful, immortal and near invincible being all I wanted. But, in the end, I was still Miriam Hayle's little girl.
She went on before I could make a total fool of myself and start sobbing about Quaid, thank the elements. Are you all right? Leave it to her to sense something was wrong. But her question helped, oddly. I deflected my concerns over my marriage to other issues weighing me down.