Emma’s fever broke like a thread snapping. Jake asked for toast. The house exhaled. Helen found herself humming at the sink, a tune that had waited in her chest for the right day to return.
“You’ll always tell me if you need help,” Lisa said later, not as an order but as a promise. “And I’ll ask before I disappear.”
Asking is a kind of love. So is answering. Most days require both in equal measure.
