On Mother’s Day, my grown kids told me they had chosen the restaurant and expected me to pay for all twelve of them, just like always.

demanded.

At the taxi stand outside the airport, Helen checked her phone. Forty-three messages were waiting.

She did not open them.

Instead, she gave the driver the address of her hotel near Piazza Navona and watched Rome appear beyond the window. Ancient walls. Scooters slipping through traffic. Narrow streets glowing gold in the morning sun. Laundry continue reading …