“No,” Derek said, handing the phone back to me. “It is not just in the past.”

I slid the phone back into my pocket, the cold metal pressing against my thigh.

My heart was beating fast, but my hands remained steady.

“Two years ago, I sat in my empty apartment with a bowl of instant noodles, wondering if I should quit,” I said.

“You had a roof over your head,” Mother said.

“Because Derek helped me move my desk,” I said. “Because my team worked for free for six months.”

The silence between us stretched, heavy and hot in the afternoon sun.

A group of tourists paused nearby to take a photo of the Hoover Tower.

Their laughter sounded incredibly distant, like a radio playing in another room.

Mother reached out to touch Derek’s arm, but he stepped back, just out of her reach.

Her hand hovered in the air for a second before she dropped it to her side.

“We have a reservation at Laurent’s in half an hour,” she said, her voice reclaiming its rigid authority.

“They only hold the table for fifteen minutes,” she added.