’Mabel’s’, the swinging sign read. The bistro looking more rundown than you remembered, the red brick wall fading into the green spots all around it. The door’s paint chipping away, the windows speckled with grime.

Squinting into the window, you saw no one. Knowing your mother, you were shocked. You expected a welcome back party with cake, confetti, and a happy hour but there was nothing. The curiosity killing you, you enter. The door unlocked, you step into the bistro.

“We’re closed,” A far voice shouted from the kitchen.