understood.
She wasn’t trying to replace Sarah.
She was inviting her back into our home.
We baked together.
Flour covered the counters.
Ari cracked eggs with more enthusiasm than accuracy.
Claire laughed when batter splashed onto her sleeve.
Half the muffins rose crooked.
One burned around the edges.
“They’re perfect,” Ari declared.
I reached for my phone.
For the first time in years, I played Sarah’s lullaby without leaving the room.
Her voice floated through the kitchen.
It still hurt.
But now it also felt like a gift.
Ari placed
