Dan laughed. “Hey, let’s not bring up laundry day disasters.”
Lizie laughed, warm and open. I smiled, remembering the girl who once flinched at every sound.
I packed her a lunch.
“Here, take this for tomorrow.”
She hugged me tightly. “Thank you, Aunt Helena. For everything.”
I hugged her back. “Anytime. You’re family here.”
She left, and I stood in the quiet kitchen. Sam watched me, pride in her eyes.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m proud of you. You didn’t just notice someone hurting—you acted.”
Sam shrugged, smiling. “You would’ve done the same, Mom.”
I realized every sacrifice, every hard choice, had shaped her into someone I admired.
The next day, Sam and Lizie came in laughing.
“Mom, what’s for dinner?” Sam asked.
“Rice,” I said. “And whatever I can stretch.”
This time, I set out four plates without thinking.
