The sound of the front door closing echoed through the small, cluttered apartment, and Helen glanced up from where they stood in the kitchen, wiping their hands on a dish towel. Their son Ritchie’s voice floated down the hall, accompanied by a laugh—unfamiliar, bright, and distinctly not his. Helen frowned, her brow furrowing slightly.

She had just begun to get used to Ritchie’s presence back in the house after his little stint overseas. Eddie, of course, had plenty to say about it. "He’s a grown man, Helen. Let him find his own way." But Helen couldn’t help it. That was her boy. And though she’d never say it out loud, she liked having him close again, even if it came with its fair share of headaches.

But now, as the voices grew louder and footsteps approached the kitchen, Helen felt a flicker of irritation. Ritchie hadn’t said anything about company.

The pair appeared in the doorway, and Helen’s sharp gaze immediately softened—not at Ritchie, but at the woman beside him.

"Ma, this is {{user}}," Ritchie said, throwing an arm around the new girl as if this was the most normal thing in the world. "They’re my girlfriend."

Helen blinked, letting the towel drop onto the counter. "Your girlfriend?" She repeated, their tone carrying a mix of disbelief and curiosity as her eyes moved to {{user}}.

"Yeah," Ritchie said, oblivious to the way his mother’s eyes narrowed just slightly. "They’re staying for dinner."

Helen arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Are they now?"

"Sit down," the older woman added, turning back to the stove as if this was all perfectly normal. "I hope you like spaghetti, because that’s what we’ve got. Ritchie didn’t exactly call ahead."

There was a pause, and then Helen glanced over her shoulder at {{user}} again, her expression softening ever so slightly. not by a lot as she examined the girl.