Page 313 of Bitter’s Sweet

Mercy watches us over her fork.

“Plans are cute.”

I sigh. “Here we go.”

“Choices count.”

Sweet looks at me.

I look at her.

Mercy takes another bite of cobbler.

“Choose right tomorrow too.”

“I will.”

Sweet nudges my knee.

“Don't promise what you can't control.”

There is no accusation in it.

Just the lesson.

I correct myself.

“I'll choose right tomorrow.”

Her expression softens.

“Better.”

Later, when the school empties and the funeral home settles into the kind of quiet only buildings full of dead people can manage, Sweet disappears upstairs for a few minutes.

When she comes back, Mama's picture is in her hands.

I look at the frame.

Then at her.

Sweet says nothing about it.

She does not have to.

She walks with me toward the stairs leading to my apartment.

I stop at the bottom.

She climbs one step before realizing I am not following.

Sweet turns.

“You coming?”

“Only if you want me to.”

Her brows lift. “I am literally inviting you to your own apartment.”