Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Sara lets the Lyft park itself in the drive, lets out a sigh, and tweets "It's OK Mom, I got it." that much of a failure." Mom sighs, shoulders falling, looks at Sara directly. "I'm sorry honey." She looks old, Sara thinks, watching a resigned tiredness flicker across her face in a way she'd not noticed before. Like she's exhausted by conflict, surrendered to it. "Now, don't I get a hug?" Sara smiles. They hold each other for a few long seconds, rubbing and squeezing each other as the Lyft silently backs itself out of the driveway. When they part it's Mom's hand that's on the bag's handle. Inside she unwraps herself from scarves and layers, the heat in the house almost a shock after the cold air. Michigan in February. Mom is already halfway up the stairs, bag in tow, headed for her room. Fade to black. Chevrolet logo. White text against black. 'We know what really makes America great' Sara finds herself in the front room, sobbing. "Honey?" Dad pauses the TV, looks up at her. It looks like he's been crying too. "Sara?" She straightens herself up, wipes her eyes. Suddenly feels a little self conscious. "Sure. Let me just go freshen up first." "Of course honey." Mom and Dad watch Sara leave the room, and then look at each other. "Well." "Well indeed." "What did I tell you? You two just needed to spend some time together. Some quality time." "I guess so. What did I ever do to deserve a woman as hot and as smart as you, huh Sheryl?" Mom stands up and makes to leave the room, leaning down to kiss him as she passes. "I ask myself that question every day." "Fine." "Sorry Mom." Sara turns back to the TV, to watching the war, to trying to work out which one it is. It had always been this way, ever since she was about thirteen. Up until then it just seemed like constant warmth, as though she didn't have any childhood concept of Dad apart from him getting home from work, then her sitting on his knee, eating cookies and watching football highlights until Mom came in and scolded them both for ruining their appetites before dinner. And then everything changed. Suddenly there was rap music and nose rings, sneaking out of the house to see her friends and not wanting to go to church. Suddenly he was no longer this lovable bear-man that ruffled her hair and gave her candy and explained defensive plays to her, but this huge obelisk of injustice that just wanted to crush her high school life into dust. It was constant warfare Dad is in the bathroom, and Sara has had enough of Fox and whichever war this is. She reaches over and grabs the remote from the arm of his chair, and tries to find something else to watch. The government had scrapped all the rules about how the internet worked, and for most people like her parents it had suddenly gotten a lot cheaper to get their TV through Facebook, so all she can find is Dinner is Mom's meatloaf, with gravy and mashed potatoes. Cornbread and broccoli. Every mouthful tastes like nostalgia, and Sara can feel herself being encompassed by a bubble, this barrier of warm air and long forgotten simplicity enveloping her body, protecting her from the confusion of the world outside. "How's work, honey?" Mom asks. "Yeah, going OK." Sara works for a non-profit in Brooklyn that helps big organisations to transition to renewable energy. The pay is lousy but it feels important. "We just got the last few schools in the city to agree to put solar panels on their roofs. Big deal for us. I've been working on them for the last two years." Mom says nothing, just looks down at her plate. Sara laughs, covering her mouth as she nearly chokes on chewed food. "What? No they don't Dad." "Look it up?" Sara shakes her head, not knowing where to even start. "Dad, who is telling you this stuff?" "No blasphemy at the dinner table, please honey" says Mom. "What about them?" "They show me this stuff because they've got products to sell. That's how the economy works. That's how we create jobs. Godammit Sara, are you telling me you hate advertising now? Do you just hate everything about America?" Sara looks over to Mom, who looks like she's on the brink of tears. Suddenly she finds she's also lost the will to fight. Gently she closes the iPad and puts it down on the table, next to her plate. "No, of course not Dad. Maybe I'll read this later, after the game." After dinner she helps Mom clean-up, the two of them loading the dishwasher in near silence. She's leaning against the counter, scrolling through Twitter on her phone, when Mom finally speaks. "You should go easy on your father, you know. He's worried about a lot of things." "Don't joke Sara, I'm serious. There's a lot that bothers him. The state of the world. The future. All these damn wars." "We're all worried about all that, Mom." Sara looks up from her phone, genuine concern. "Is he OK?" "Yeah, well you know your father. Doesn't like to talk about it. Doesn't want to burden other people with his problems. Hates pity." She pauses, looks out the window into the yard. When she turns back to Sara her eyes are damp. "This is why I was so excited about you coming back. Why he was so excited! I thought it'd take his mind of all this. He was so excited to see you. You know he loves watching the game with you, Sara." Sara slips her phone into her pocket, genuine guilt. Feels like a spoiled kid. "I didn't realise. I'm sorry." Mom smiles, walks over and kisses her on the forehead. "It's OK honey. Don't feel bad. Just go. Just go sit in there with him and watch some TV. Please." "Fuck this," says Sara, getting up from her seat. "Sara!" says Mom. "No I'm sorry, I can't. I can't sit here and watch this… this bullshit. This propaganda." She storms out of the room. "Sara!" Mom makes to get up. "No, just leave her," says Dad, gently, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "Just let her go." Out in the kitchen Sara sits at the table and wants to scream. She's angry, mainly with herself. She should never have fucking come here. She should have known better. There was never any fucking way anything good was going to come from this. As much as Mom wants to romanticise things, to make them sound cute and adorable, the truth is shit with Dad has never been right since she was a teenager. Too much resentment, too much bad blood, too much control and rebellion. They hadn't agreed on anything - they hadn't managed to have a simple conversation that didn't descend into fighting - in 15 goddamn years, and no amount of eating cookies and watching fucking Super Bowl ads on the TV was going to fix that. She sighs, wipes a tear from her cheek. On autopilot she takes her phone from her pocket, feels its reassuring warmth in her hand, and swipes open Twitter. Everybody seems to be talking about the same thing.

<question>:
What is Sara's relationship with her mom?

<options>:
A Sara's mom doesn't trust Sara very much given the history Sara has with her dad
B Sara's mom is endlessly proud of Sara even if this is tense in the rest of the family
C Sara is worried she has disappointed her mom who is exhausted by being in the middle of a family fight
D Sara does everything driven by a desire to make her mom proud, and she is praised in return

<answer>:

C