The morning sun spilled across the vineyard like honey, golden light coating every leaf and vine in warmth. Rows upon rows of grape-laden vines stood proudly, whispering in the soft breeze that passed through the hills. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped, the air filled with the quiet, earthy perfume of rich soil and ripened fruit. Life had slowed, softened, and matured—much like the wine Enzo and Amelia bottled together each season.
Amelia stood on the back porch, barefoot, cradling a steaming mug of coffee between her palms. Her robe clung loosely to her frame, and her long hair was tied into a messy bun, strands falling around her cheeks as she gazed out into their vineyard. The land stretched endlessly in front of her, green and sun-kissed, home.
Behind her, little feet pattered.
“Mama
