CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: TANGLED TRUTHS

I sat in the dimly lit room, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me, but sleep refused to come. My mind wandered-back to a time when warmth still existed in my world.

The scent of fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the gentle breeze that rolled through the open windows. Sunlight streamed in, casting golden hues over the small but cozy home.

I giggled as I sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, watching my mother, Shayla, kneel beside me, rolling a small ball of dough between her hands.

"Like this, sweetheart," she said, her voice light and full of warmth. She guided my tiny hands, pressing my fingers into the dough.

I pouted. "Mine doesn't look like yours."

Shayla chuckled, ruffling my blonde hair. "That's because I've had more practice. But yours is perfect because you made it."

My pout turned into a grin. "Perfect?"

"Perfect," she repeated, booping my nose with flour.