The house woke slowly that morning.
Not the usual rushing around with pots clanging, voices shouting across rooms, or my mother barking instructions like a general preparing for battle. Instead, everything moved in soft steps — like people who had just survived a storm and were still afraid to make too much noise.
I lay in bed for a while before getting up.
My hand rested on my stomach, my eyes on the ceiling. I could hear distant sounds downstairs — a chair scraping gently, low murmurs of conversation, the kettle whistling faintly in the kitchen.
For the first time in weeks, I did not wake with a knot in my chest.
There was still fear there, yes. Still uncertainty. Still pain.
But there was also something new.
Peace.
Not perfect peace — just enough calm to let me breathe.
I sat u
