He Gave My Reservation To His Parents—Unaware The Restaurant Was My Brother’s

Dinner Sunday? Your mom is making lasagna. James is coming. Bring yourself and your appetite.

I smiled, typing back immediately: I’ll be there.

And I would be. Because these were my people. My family. The ones who’d always seen me, always valued me, always made space for me at their table.

The real table. The one that mattered.