The soft strains of a familiar tune float through the air, weaving a melody that seems to dance along with the flickering flames of the stove. I move with a grace born of years spent in a kitchen, my movements fluid and purposeful as I chop, stir and sauté. My lips curve upward in a gentle smile as I hum, the sound a soothing accompaniment to the clatter of pots and pans.
Today is a special day. Knox has insisted that Maxinne’s babysitters deserve a break, a rare day off to spend as they please. And so, I find myself alone in the kitchen, a feeling of contentment settling deep within me.
With each movement, my mind drifts to thoughts of my pregnancy. I can't help but rub my palm over my still-flat belly, a gesture both tender and hopeful. The memory of my previous loss still lingers like
