..Out of the Blue ..💙

39.Games

Early morning.

The smell of fresh pancakes filled the kitchen.

Grace Mittal was already seated at the table, in a soft lavender silk robe that made her look far too elegant for 8 AM. She was sipping tea like she owned the sun.

Athena was on her third slice of toast, giggling into her glass of juice, clearly having told Grace some ridiculous secret.

Zoya entered trying not to look like she hadn’t slept well.

Monica was already at the counter, quiet, dressed immaculately, flipping through some business report on her tablet. She didn’t look up.

“Good morning, darling,” Grace beamed at Zoya, making room beside her. “You look like someone who fought a blanket and lost.”

Zoya laughed softly and sat beside her. “That’s one way to put it.”

Grace leaned in, mock-whispering, “Don’t worry, she was born like this.” She tilted her head toward Monica. “All brooding. She didn’t even smile in her baby photos.”

Athena gasped. “Mommy was a sad baby?”

Grace nodded solemnly. “Like a tiny angry CEO.”

Zoya chuckled, and even Monica’s lips twitched — very slightly. But she didn’t look up.

Zoya poured herself some tea. “It’s a little hard to imagine her in diapers bossing people around.”

“Oh, believe me,” Grace said, sipping dramatically. “She once fired her piano teacher at nine.”

Zoya grinned, stealing glances at Monica, whose jaw visibly tightened.

But she didn’t say anything.

Just like last night.

Zoya’s smile dimmed a bit.

Grace picked up on it immediately — eyes darting between them like she was solving a murder mystery with toast crumbs.

“Trouble in paradise?” she asked casually, as she buttered a slice of toast.

Zoya nearly choked on her tea.

Monica shot her mother a flat glare. “We don’t do paradise.”

“Oh, right. You do emotional suppression and power stares.” Grace looked at Zoya again. “You’re still here though. That’s saying something.”

Zoya smiled bitter sweet.

Monica sat behind — head bent over a contract she wasn’t really reading.

There was a soft knock.

Before she could answer, Grace walked in.

She didn’t ask for permission. She never did.

Grace quietly closed the door behind her and walked over to the window, gazing out for a moment. Then she spoke without turning around.

“I don’t remember the last time I saw you like this.”

Monica didn’t look up. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to bolt. Or break something.”

Still flipping pages, Monica responded flatly, “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying. Badly. And to me, of all people.”

Grace turned now, arms folded.

“I saw the way you looked at her this morning. Like she was a stranger you were trying to figure out… not the woman raising your daughter with you.”