It started with a knock on the door—three sharp raps followed by one softer one.
I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Still in my hoodie and mismatched socks, I padded to the door and pulled it open—and there they were.
My mom and Aunt Celia.
Both smiling, both holding overnight bags.
“Surprise,” my mom said, eyes crinkling like she wasn’t nervous at all. But I could see it in her shoulders—that tiny hesitation, as if unsure whether she had shown up too soon, or too late.
“Wait, what—how?” I blinked, stepping aside as they walked in, my apartment suddenly smaller and fuller and brighter than it had ever been.
“Your aunt had a work conference in the city. I tagged along,” Mom said, setting her bag down. “I just… I wanted to see you.”
I swallowed a knot of emotion. “I’m glad you came.”
And I meant it.
Mara arrived twenty minutes later, to drop off some prints and hang out like we’d planned. She paused in the doorway when she saw my mom, then smiled instantly.
“You must be Layla’s mom! Wow, you l
