The warmth of this house, the subtle creak of its floors and the lingering scent of Mom’s cooking, cocooned me in a comfort I had nearly forgotten. For a few precious hours, it was enough to let me sleep deeply, dreamlessly, away from the chaos stirring inside my heart.
I woke up to the familiar sound of Mom’s voice, loud and affectionate, calling from somewhere downstairs.
"I'm going to the market, honey!" she yelled, her words carrying through the thin walls.
I blinked at the sunlight filtering through the white lace curtains, momentarily disoriented. Morning had come and with it, a fragile sense of new beginnings. I sat up, stretching, and quickly freshened up before heading downstairs.
The scent of tuna drifted through the air—Mom’s famous tuna sandwich, if it could even be called
