Talia’s POV
“Talia?” my mother calls as she enters my room.
“Yeah, Mom?” I nod and sit up straighter on the floor, quickly wiping my tears before she gets too close.
She purses her lips, then walks over and lowers herself beside me. “I brought you something,” she says, handing me a small, worn book. “I thought it might help.”
I take the book from her, and I immediately recognize it. It’s my grandmother’s recipe book, filled with old recipes, each one tied to a memory. I flip through the pages slowly, my fingers brushing over the familiar handwriting. “Thanks, Mom,” I say, holding it carefully.
“You’ve always found comfort in cooking. I thought it could help you now,” she says, looking directly at me, like she wants to be sure I understand.
I nod and trace the almost faded ink on one
