The next day, we visited their new apartment. It was small but cozy, with boxes scattered and the faint smell of burnt toast.

“Didn’t check the toaster,” Dren mumbled, embarrassed.

We took them to a café for lunch, where they finally owned up to their mistakes. “We were wrong,” Sylva admitted, poking at her salad. “We saw an easy life at your mom’s and got greedy. Now we have to make this work.”

Vion didn’t hold back. “You embarrassed me,” he said, voice steady but sharp. “You used my wife’s mom. Do you know how that feels?”

I let him speak, watching his parents eat their sandwiches in silence, heads bowed.

On the drive home, Vion stopped to buy Mom a bouquet of flowers. “She deserves it,” he said.

What would you have done?