Elaine
I sat in the kitchen, slowly nibbling on a warm bagel, the kind Helen always made fresh in the mornings. The sunlight poured through the white lace curtains, casting soft golden beams across the marble countertop. Tiny specks of flour floated in the air like snowflakes, catching the light as they danced lazily. The whole room smelled like cinnamon and raisins, and it felt like home.
Helen stood by the counter, humming quietly to herself as she stirred the muffin batter. Her silver hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and her hands moved with practiced ease. She looked so peaceful, so content. I’d seen her like this many times before, but today, something about the moment made me pause. Helen was always happiest when she was baking, especially for the pack. I sometimes wondered if
