Page 176 of Modern Romance May 2026 Books 5-8
“You should be here,” she told him. “You should hold her hand.”
Zervou frowned. It was perhaps the first actionable directive she’d ever given him. But he did not understand it. “And what will that do? I’m not sure she would know who I am even without the dementia.”
Everything went silent. It took him long seconds to realize it wasn’t just his mother not speaking.
She’d ended the call.
He stared at the phone in his hand, more than a little shocked. No, they did not get along. They did not see eye to eye. But for his mother to give him a directive, then hang up…
It left him churned up. Old feelings creeping back into his mature, adult certainty that he wouldn’t be bogged down by her issues.
Would things change if he booked a flight home? Would his mother be more accepting of help if he dropped everything to do what she asked now? Sit next to the grandmother he did not know, did not even like, and hold her hand as she slipped away from life?
She will never be happy. She will never accept your help.
A good reminder, but—
He heard something shuffle and looked up.
Ari.
She stood in his doorway. She was dressed for the gym, a duffel bag over her shoulder, though his ring winked on her finger. Her hair was braided back away from her face. Her skin was dewy, and she had a fresh bruise on her upper arm.
She was back from her classes and training. He hadn’t realized it was quite so late. He tried to find some center within himself but found himself only at a loss for words.
“I did not mean to interrupt,” she greeted, taking a hesitant step into his office. “I heard you talking, and you sounded…” She trailed off, adjusting the grip on her bag, clearly uncomfortable. “Is everything all right?”
What a question. But that wasn’t what she meant. “Yes. I was simply talking to my mother.” He stood behind his desk, thinking it would give him some kind of action, but instead it left him feeling even more unmoored. He looked down, unseeing, at the glossy shine of his desk. “My grandmother has taken a bit of a turn for the worse.”
Ari stepped in farther, her features quickly arranged into concern. “Do you need to go see her?”
“No.”
“But—”
“She is my grandmother by blood, but that is all.”
Ari did not offer any arguments to that; how could she? But she did not leave. She stood there, looking like she wanted to say more.
Making him feel guilty.
Which was ridiculous. He had nothing to feel guilty about. She simply didn’t know the situation.
“I have no real memory of her. She did not approve of my father and so withheld herself from my mother, our family. After my father died, she offered help, but my mother refused as she did everyone who wanted to help. It was only when the woman became sick that my mother returned to her side, and by that time I was far away.”
“So why did your mother call?” Ari asked gently.
“Speaking of mothers, how does yours fare?” he asked, meeting her gaze. Holding it. Because he felt no guilt, no need to continue this conversation. He felt nothing. His mother’s call was a nonissue.
But Ari frowned. And doubled down, moving closer to his desk. “Zervou. Why did your mother call if you have no relationship with your grandmother?”
He did not know why she’d push this, but if she must, what was the harm in a little truth? “Honestly? I do not know. She certainly did not want my help.”
You should hold her hand.And how would that help? Any of them? No, she didn’t want his help.
She wanted his pain. He understood this, more a little every year, that pain was the only currency his mother understood. And he could have drowned in that if he’d been more devoted to her, perhaps, but he’d seen no point.
Life was pain enough, why drown himself in it and become a living ghost to anyone who might care?
