My Family Toasted

windows.

Orange peel.

Clove.

A home that looked warm because it was.

“I am,” I said.

And I meant it.

Later, after everyone left, I found one note on the kitchen island.

Elena’s handwriting.

The work is still the work. But you did good.

I taped it inside the cabinet where I kept my coffee mugs.

Not because I needed praise to survive anymore.

Because true things continue reading …