The days that followed felt like a quiet storm brewing under a cloudless sky.
Amara moved through the halls like a ghost still tethered by love. With every step, she passed rooms that held fragments of memories she wasn’t quite ready to let go of—Sera’s laughter echoing through the nursery, the late-night stories told under a blanket fort, the lullabies whispered against the backdrop of thunder.
And beside her, Clarisse walked with growing confidence.
She was gentle, curious, and asked all the right questions. She wasn’t just there to do a job—she truly wanted to care. It showed in the way she watched Sera’s expressions, how she adjusted her pace to match the child’s moods, how she now instinctively poured her milk to just the right temperature without being told.
By the fourth day, Cl
