“Blueberry waffles, Gran!” Leo chirped, banging his fork on the table while his sister, Maya, stared blankly at a cartoon. I moved with practiced grace, pouring juice and flipping waffles, masking my hurt behind a gentle smile. I was a ghost in a house I spent forty hours a week maintaining.
While they ate, I pivoted to the counter. The lunchboxes were a ritual of mine. I didn’t just pack food; I packed comfort.
