Sam grinned. “That’s because you haven’t seen Mom on laundry day.”
Dan threw his hands up. “Whoa, let’s not bring up the laundry day disasters, please.”
Lizie laughed, a warm, unguarded sound that filled the room. I smiled, remembering that skittish girl who’d once flinched at every noise and counted every penny.
I grabbed a sandwich bag and packed a lunch for her.
“Here, take this for tomorrow.”
She took it, hugging me tight. “Thank you, Aunt Helena. For everything.”
I squeezed her back. “Anytime, sweetheart. You’re family here.”
“Thank you, Aunt Helena.”
She left, and I stood in the quiet kitchen. I caught Sam watching me, a gentle pride in her eyes.
“Hey,” I said. “I hope you know I’m proud of you. You didn’t just see someone hurting — you did something.”
Sam shrugged, but she smiled. “You’d have done the same, Mom.”
I realized every sacrifice, every tough choice, had shaped her into someone I admired.
***
The next day, Sam and Lizie burst through the door 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.
“You’d have done the same, Mom.”
