Salome’s POV
"Do you remember the time you thought the training wheels were just a suggestion?" Grandma asked, her voice light with a teasing edge.
She was humming a soft melody while she worked, a tune that dragged me right back to being five years old with scraped knees and a bruised ego. Mom was at the counter next to her, the rhythmic thud of her knife against the cutting board filling the kitchen as she minced garlic.
I leaned against the doorframe, feeling a strange tug in my chest. "I really believed I could fly down that hill."
"You didn't fly," Grandma said, chuckling as she stirred the red sauce. "You took out the entire row of hydrangea bushes. I still think that shrub never recovered."
Mom let out a short, bright laugh. It was the first time I had heard her actually sound
