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The room grew quiet except for the film’s accordion score. On screen, Alex reads his mother a fake news script about border openings. Margret tapped the laptop. “He’s lying to save her.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been my Alex,” Margret whispered. “The curtains. The neighbor’s voice on the phone. The old toothpaste brand.”
Anna had prepared for this. “Because sometimes we need to read what we hear. To believe it.”
“I love you, Mama.”
For the first time, she looked not at the screen, but at Anna. Really looked.