three napkins on the breakfast table.
Then she paused.
She climbed down, picked up Sarah’s photograph from the windowsill, and placed a fourth napkin beneath it.
Claire brought over the muffins.
She chose the least-burned one and placed it beside the photograph.
Ari smiled.
Then she slipped her little hand into Claire’s.
Not because she’d forgotten her mother.
Because she finally understood she never had to.
I looked around the kitchen.
Blueberry muffins.
Sarah’s lullaby.
Claire’s gentle smile.
My daughter’s laughter.
Four places.
One family.
No one was replaced.
Love
