Naime pressed the last damp cloth against the kitchen counter and leaned back on her heels, breathing in the faint scent of lemon and soap. Sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, catching the newly polished surfaces and turning them soft gold. The house no longer looked like a place that had endured long days of silence and sorrow. It felt lived in again. It felt cared for.
She rose and wiped her hands on her apron, surveying the small dining table she had set by the window. The plates were mismatched, the forks slightly worn, but she had arranged everything with care. Steam curled gently from the dishes she had prepared, weaving through the air like a promise.
On the stove, a pot of chicken soup simmered quietly for Auntie May. Naime had added extra ginger the way Auntie liked, let
