"I'll try to do that, Anaya," I spoke to her, my voice calm and soothing, balm for her frayed nerves. But already Anaya's eyes narrowed into a frown of corrective furrowing; deep between her eyes, a small crease formed. "But you know your sister," I continued, trying to explain, my words tumbling out in a gentle cascade.
Anaya cut across me, however, her voice firm but polite, a gentle rebuke. "Step-sis, mom, not my sister, mom," she corrected me immediately, her voice's clear and precise enunciation rendering each syllable comprehensible. Apologetic pangs rang within me as I grinned, remorse in the pit of my stomach about the error. "Step-sis, sorry for that, dear," I said, my voice softening, gentle like a summer breeze. But Anaya remained worried, as her eyes clouded all these with con
