Molly
The apartment smelled like baked chicken, buttered noodles, and the faint lemon of the dish soap she’d used earlier. Molly hummed under her breath as she moved between the stove and the table, the warm domestic quiet wrapping around her like a blanket.
Scarlett sat in her booster seat, cheeks flushed from the heat of the food, swinging her little legs while she clumsily stabbed at her chicken with a plastic fork.
“Careful, bug,” Molly laughed, reaching over to guide her small hand. “Let’s not fling chicken across the room this time.”
Scarlett giggled, her mouth full, eyes crinkling in a way that never failed to undo Molly.
For once, the evening felt easy—no rush to get out the door, no frantic juggling of chores. Just them, sharing a quiet meal. Molly intended to savor every min
