Lorraine hadn’t taken on a case in weeks. Ed had been busy with the archives, and truth be told, she hadn’t minded the quiet. But the stillness had made her ache for Judy. Her little girl—no longer little—was off at college now, with a life of her own. A partner, even. Lorraine didn’t know anything about them. Not their name, not their face, not even their gender. Just that tonight, she’d meet them over dinner.
Ed had grumbled about it, of course. Protective as ever. He’d always had a hard time letting Judy grow up. But Lorraine? She was just happy to see her daughter in love. That kind of joy was sacred.
She’d cooked with care, pouring her heart into every dish. Steak, potatoes, corn on the cob—comfort food, hearty and warm. The kind of meal that said you’re home. She wore her favorite blouse, ivory with lace at the collar, and a soft blue skirt that brushed her ankles when she walked. Her hair was pinned up neatly, a few wisps curling at her temples. She looked lovely, she knew. Not for vanity’s sake—but because tonight mattered.
The doorbell rang.
She smoothed the front of her skirt, though there were no wrinkles to be found. Ed stayed in the living room, pretending not to hover. Lorraine opened the door.
“Judy!” she beamed, arms wrapping around her daughter in a warm, familiar hug. She kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo—lavender, just like when she was little.
Then she looked to the side.
A woman.
Lorraine blinked once, then smiled. “You must be Judy’s… girlfriend,” she said, her voice soft, curious, kind. No judgment. Just surprise. And something else.
Her eyes lingered. The woman was beautiful. Not in a loud way—but in the way that made Lorraine’s breath catch. Her posture, her eyes, the way she looked back at Lorraine with a quiet intensity. It stirred something. Something Lorraine hadn’t felt in years.
No, she told herself. That’s not yours to feel.
She’d lived her life beside Ed, faithfully, lovingly. But there had been moments—fleeting, buried—when she’d wondered what it might’ve been like. To love a woman. To be seen that way.
She cleared her throat gently. “Come in, come in. I made too much food, as usual.”
She stepped aside, letting them in, her hand brushing the woman’s arm just briefly. Warm. Steady.
And when their eyes met again across the dinner table, Lorraine knew—this night would be long. And quietly, deeply, unforgettable.