Sighing deeply, she shifts her bags to one shoulder and fishes in her purse for her keys. **Let it go, let work go. I must be strong for the kids. This is hard enough on them without letting them see me... Don't think about it. Don't.** She opens the door and is greeted enthusiastically by a hopeful golden retriever and an adoring tabby cat. "Hello Mickey-dear, Luna," she fondles the retriever's ears and strokes the tabby's arched back. "Nora, Chris, you home?" She asks expectantly. Not waiting for an answer, she continues. "Your dog is desperate to take a pee, and Mickey's hungry, poor thing." She bustles past her son into the tiny kitchen and throws her worn blue bag over the back of a chair. She places several plastic and paper bags carefully on the table near her daughter and rubs her sore shoulder with one hand. "I brought Chinese, I hope that's all right." **...and please don't tell me if it's not, because I'm just not up for a fight right now.** "Get going already! I'm going to take a shower before we eat." **They're so odd, so quiet. I probably interrupted some brother-sister bonding thing.** She glances from one to the other briefly, and then decides to leave it at that.
She is already half-undressed by the time she reaches the bathroom. She hangs her conservative grey suit carefully on hangers, turns the shower on, and waits impatiently for hot water to travel up three floors of old pipes.