Mark adjusted his blue suit jacket as he walked through the front door of his mother's house.
The bright dining room was decorated with pink balloons and filled with laughing guests.
Light filled the white kitchen, casting long shadows across the polished marble counters.
His mother, Evelyn, sat at the head of the long table, smiling warmly at her friends.
She looked perfectly calm and elegant in her favorite silver dress.
Mark smiled briefly, expecting a pleasant family gathering to celebrate his mother's retirement.
However, his smile vanished the moment he looked toward the kitchen sink.
His wife, Sarah, was standing there with her head bowed down low.
She was exhaustively scrubbing dirty baking sheets under hot running water.
Her small shoulders trembled under the weight of their sleeping toddler strapped to her back.
The little boy's cheek rested heavily against her pale shoulder.
Sarah looked utterly exhausted, her apron stained with grease and flour.
Mark felt a cold knot tighten inside his stomach as he watched her work.
Sarah had worked a night shift at the local hospital just hours before.
She had promised to help prepare a few dishes for the afternoon party.
Yet, it was obvious she had been forced to do all the heavy labor alone.
None of the invited guests had offered to hand her a towel or clear a dish.
Mark walked straight past the dining table toward his mother's chair.
He kept his hands tucked into his pockets to hide his growing tension.
Evelyn raised her wine glass to take a slow sip, entirely ignoring her son's approach.
The American flag hung proudly on the wall behind her, framing the whole scene.
Mark stopped right beside her chair and lowered his voice slightly.
He tried his best to keep his anger hidden from the surrounding guests.
He pointed gently toward the kitchen sink where Sarah was struggling.
He asked his mother why she could not help Sarah hold the sleeping baby for a moment.
Evelyn lowered her glass slowly onto the lace tablecloth.
She looked up at Mark with a cold and indifferent stare.
She smirked slightly, showing no regret or concern for Sarah's condition.
She asked why she should do anything when she was the owner of the house.
Mark felt his face grow hot as the words hit him like a physical blow.
He could not believe his mother would speak with such cruel arrogance.
He stared at her while the sound of dishes clattering filled the silent room.