Chapter 18 - Sunday Supper
Sunday evening arrived with the soft, amber glow of a setting sun filtering through the kitchen windows of my cottage. The air was filled with the rich, savory scent of slow-simmered marinara sauce and garlic bread baking in the oven.
Daniel stood at the kitchen island, expertly tossing homemade fettuccine while laughing at a story I had just finished telling about my early days founding Collins Industrial Holdings three decades ago. There were no grand mansions, no crystal chandeliers, and no arrogant executives shouting across mahogany tables—just a mother and a son, sharing a warm meal in a cozy home built on honesty, hard work, and mutual respect.
"Pass the grated parmesan, Mom," Daniel requested, smiling as he plated two generous portions of pasta.
I handed him the ceramic bowl across the wooden counter. "You know, watching you run your own studio now, handling clients with such genuine respect and listening to your team's ideas... it reminds me why I started the company in the first place, all those years ago."
Daniel carried the plates over to the dining table, pulling out my chair before sitting down opposite me. "You started it to create something lasting and meaningful," he said softly. "I just had to learn the hard way that you can't build anything real on a foundation of snobbery and pretense."
We ate in comfortable, peaceful silence for a few moments, savoring the simple joy of good food and uninterrupted conversation. The shadows lengthened across the wooden floorboards, signaling the quiet close of another weekend.
"So," Daniel said, taking a sip of water, "the civic library groundbreaking ceremony is scheduled for next month. The mayor asked if you would cut the ceremonial ribbon as the primary corporate benefactor of the public arts grant."
I looked up, surprised, before smiling warmly. "I think that honor belongs entirely to you and your design team, sweetheart. But I will certainly be sitting in the front row, cheering you on."
May you like
Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. "You always deflect the spotlight, Mom. That's why nobody ever guesses you're the billionaire behind the empire."
"Let them keep guessing," I replied, raising my water glass in a quiet toast. "Anonymity is a wonderful shield, and truth always speaks louder than a title."
