CHAPTER 38: FORTY MINUTES

The call came mid-morning on Monday.

Seraphina was sitting behind the counter at the gym, sorting protein bars by expiration date with the methodical efficiency of someone who desperately needed to keep her hands busy. It wasn’t that the task was important—no one cared if the chocolate mint expired before the peanut butter ones—but the rhythm helped her think. Or, more accurately, helped her to not think.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen and saw her mother’s name.

She almost didn’t pick up.

But then she did.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hey sweetie," came her mother’s voice, just a bit too cheerful. "Do you have time for lunch today?"

A pause. "Lunch?"

"Nothing serious. I just thought it’d be nice to catch up. Your father and I were talking and realized it’s been ages since we’ve had some proper one-on-one time. You’re free, aren’t you?"

Sera hesitated, her eyes scanning the mostly empty gym. She didn’t have any shifts scheduled until the evening, she was there simply because she didn’t know where else to be, and the idea of refusing her mother would only raise more alarms.

"Sure," she said finally. "Where?"

Her mother named a little bistro downtown. Clean. Clinical. The kind of place with white pressed tablecloths and laminated menus that hadn’t changed in a decade. Her mother had always loved it—said it felt ’civilized.’

Sera agreed to meet her in twenty minutes and hung up before she could ask why her hands were shaking.

------

When she arrived, her mother was already seated at a corner table, her posture impeccable and her lipstick a perfect shade of rose. She waved Sera over with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, fingers perfectly manicured, phone placed screen-down beside the napkin.

Sera sat down silently, removing her coat and tucking it behind her. She kept her movements precise, measured.

"I ordered you a mint tea," her mother said. "I remember you used to love it."

"I still do," Sera replied, although she hadn’t had it in months.

They made small talk while waiting for their meals—her mother asked about school, her classes, if she was still working out "like a maniac," and whether she’d heard from Nadia. The usual blend of light guilt and maternal probing.

"I’m still taking courses," Sera said. "Psychology, mostly. And anatomy."

"Still planning to transfer to something more practical?" her mother asked, stabbing a piece of lettuce with her fork.

"I am being practical," Sera sighed. "Psychologists make a lot of money." And for her mother, that was what it came down to... how much money could she make.

Her mother laughed softly, brushing it off like it was a joke. The waitress came by with their plates—chicken Caesar salad for her mother, rare burger and fries for Sera.

For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Then her mother cleared her throat and dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

"So," she began, setting the napkin down carefully. "Your father and I had a talk after dinner last night."

Sera didn’t look up from her plate.

"And we reached out to Nadia."

Now she looked up.

Her mother’s eyes were gentle. Practiced. "She said you’ve been a little... distant. With everyone. She’s worried. And so are we."

Sera said nothing.

"She mentioned something else, too." Her mother’s fork rested on the rim of her plate. "She said you’ve been talking about prepping. Storing food and fuel. That you mentioned survivalism."

Sera’s throat tightened.

"And she reminded us," her mother continued gently, "that you withdrew thirty thousand dollars from your investment account. That’s not nothing, sweetie."

"I told you already that I was investing it in something different," Sera replied, her voice clipped.

"In what?"

Sera looked her mother in the eye. "You said that you wanted me to take more of an initiative when it came to managing my finances. And that is what I have done."

My mother set her napkin down and looked at me. "I can’t help but notice that you still haven’t answered my question. Your father and I are the ones who gave you that money, who set up the account for you. We deserve to know what you are doing with the money. Your sister is worried that you are spending it all on those supplies that you were talking about last night."

And that’s the crux of it... what my sister whispers in our parent’s ears.

"I haven’t used a penny of your money to buy supplies," I answered, trying to keep from growling in anger... or breaking down in tears.

Mom gave me a tight smile. "You said some podcasts told you that there might be shortages. That’s hardly—"

"It’s not just podcasts," Sera snapped. "It’s patterns. It’s logic. We had a mild winter this year. Historically, that means a hard one is coming. It also means that there hasn’t been enough precipitation to actually give the earth the moisture it needs in the spring for the crops. The harvests are already predicted to be short in the western provinces. The food supply chain is fragile, and no one wants to admit it. I’m not hoarding, I’m preparing."

"Sera," her mother said, folding her hands on the table, "I know things have been hard. We were gone a long time. You’ve been alone. But thirty thousand dollars is a lot of money. You could’ve spoken to us first."

"I did. Last night. And you smiled at me like I was five years old and talking about monsters under the bed."

Her mother frowned. "It’s not like that."

"Isn’t it?"

There was a pause. A thick, heavy one.

Then her mother exhaled and reached into her purse.

"We’ve set up an appointment," she said. "Just to talk to someone."

Sera stared at her.

"A therapist," her mother added gently. "Forty minutes from now. Dr. Winslow. She’s very well-reviewed, and—"

"You already booked it?" Sera asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mother nodded. "We just want you to feel better. Nadia said you’ve been isolating. And now this—"

"She said that?"

"She’s your sister, Sera. She cares about you."

Sera’s heart thudded once. Hard. "She doesn’t know anything about me."

"She thinks you might be going through something. Mental health-wise."

Sera blinked.

Just once.

The room didn’t spin, but it tilted. Not in the physical sense. Just in the way that everything seemed... thinner. Her reality peeled back in places, like wallpaper coming loose at the corners.

Her mother continued, unaware.

"She’s just worried. We all are. You’ve been so quiet. You don’t answer your phone. You disappear for days. And now you’re spending money like this—"

"Because I’m preparing," Sera said. "Because I’ve invested in a home for myself that I am in love with. To me, this makes sense, even if no one else sees it."

"You’re scared," her mother corrected gently. "And I think talking to someone could help."

"I’m not scared," she replied, pushing her plate back. "I’m done talking."

Her mother hesitated. "You can just go for one session. See how it feels. Just talk, sweetheart."

"No."

The word cut the air like a blade. The nearby table went quiet. Her mother flinched.

Sera sighed, closing her eyes. "Fine," she said after a long beat. "Let’s go. You obviously already made the decision for me."

Her mother smiled with relief, as though that was the right answer. As though this was a success. But all Sera could feel was the lead weight of betrayal settling in her chest, slow and cold.

She didn’t speak for the rest of the meal. Didn’t touch her fries. Didn’t drink her tea.

When the bill came, her mother paid with a crisp hundred and left the change behind.

As they stepped out into the bright midday sun, her mother linked arms with her like nothing had happened. "It’s just down the street," she said. "We’ll be early, but that’s okay."

Sera nodded once, but she never looked her mother in the eye.