Her Medium Of Expression
The morning light streamed through the bay window, catching dust motes that danced above scattered toys and half-finished puzzles. The house still held the lingering warmth of last night’s dinner - traces of cinnamon and conversation hanging in the air like invisible streamers from an event no one wanted to end.
“Sophia was such a delight,” Evelyn said, gathering mugs for their morning coffee. Her cardigan caught on the corner of a cabinet she’d been meaning to fix - the kind of imperfection that came from years of small hands reaching, measuring heights against doorframes, marking time in worn wooden edges and loose hinges. “So grounded for someone so young. You can tell she really looks out for you, Juni.”
Lillian nodded from her perch on the counter, feet swinging slightly like she was still the teenager who used to sneak extra cookies from that same spot. “And those stories about her brother! No wonder she turned out so…”