Serena
Time passed like a whisper.
Some days felt like they would never end. Others vanished before I could even understand them. But every single one built something. A routine. A rhythm. A quiet kind of peace.
The bakery grew warmer with each passing day
When we first started working there, it was small barely five customers a day, and most of them just wanted coffee and day-old bread. But after Ma joined, everything changed.
She brought her old recipes with her the ones she used to cook back at the Moonclaw estate. Warm honey-butter rolls. Soft, garlic-twisted loaves. Fluffy meat-stuffed buns that sold out before the sun even fully rose. She never bragged about it. She just worked with a quiet kind of magic.
And people noticed.
Word spread across the town. Now the line started be
