Four years later
Lauren stood at the kitchen island, her voice firm but warm, wiping juice from the counter. “Emmy, we don’t spill juice on purpose, okay? You’ve gotta hold the cup tight.” She looked at her four-year-old, orange juice dripping from her hands, the sunlit kitchen bright.
Emmy’s eyes widened, her voice small. “Sorry, Mommy. I was making a river for my boat.” She held up a toy sailboat, her curls bouncing, her pout tugging at Lauren’s heart.
Lauren knelt, her voice gentle. “I get it, sweetie, but rivers go in the sink, not the counter.” She grabbed a rag, handing it to Emmy. “Help me clean, then we’ll sail that boat in the tub tonight, deal?”
Emmy grinned, her voice bright. “Deal! Can Daddy play too?” She wiped the counter, her enthusiasm messy but earnest, the kitchen a cozy chaos.
Lauren laughed, her voice playful. “We’ll drag Daddy in, don’t worry.” She glanced at Alex, flipping pancakes at the stove, his smile warm, no crutches in sight after four years of recovery. “
