Rosemary
The kitchen was quiet, the early morning stillness broken only by the soft hum of the coffee maker. I cradled the warm mug in my hands, letting the comforting aroma waft over me. The first sip was always the best part of the day, a moment of calm before the inevitable chaos.
But just as the cup touched my lips, a shriek pierced the air. I nearly dropped the mug, my heart jumping in surprise.
“You must be Rosemary!”
A whirlwind of energy burst into the kitchen, and I found myself face-to-face with a young woman with bright blonde hair and an infectious grin. She radiated enthusiasm, her dark brown eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and excitement as she practically bounced toward me.
“And you must be Emma,” I said, setting my coffee down with a smile. “Please, call me Mer.
