The familiar sounds of Rosa's kitchen filled the evening air.
Water running in the sink. The clink of plates being washed. Sofia's cartoon playing faintly from the living room, where she'd curled up on the couch with Mr. Fluffy. The smell of garlic and onions still lingered from dinner—Rosa's cooking, always too much food, always made with love.
Elena stood at the sink, a towel in her hands, catching plates as Rosa washed them and passed them over. They'd done this a thousand times. Mother and daughter, working side by side, the rhythm of dishwashing as familiar as breathing.
Rosa handed her a wet plate. Elena dried it. Set it on the counter. Reached for the next.
"You're different," Rosa said.
Elena glanced at her. "Different how?"
"Stronger. Calmer." Rosa scrubbed a pot, not lookin
