EVELYN
Laughter filled the living room, warm and unfiltered, bouncing off the walls like a hot ball. The familiar scent of Dad's coffee spilled in the air, mixing with the coconut and vanilla fragrance from Mom's favorite diffuser.
Dad was in one of his usual storytelling moods, seated in his favorite old leather armchair, the one with the slight cut from years of sitting in the exact same spot. He was recounting some ridiculous memory from his younger days, his hands telling the story as much as his words. His voice carried the energy of a man who still saw himself as a young youth, despite the silver strands creeping into his dark hair and the laugh lines that etched deeply around his eyes. I sat cross-legged on the couch, fully engaged and smiling so hard that my cheeks burnt and must’ve turned red.
"And then, there was a day your grandfather came storming in and caught me red-handed, and you know what he did?"
“What?” I asked curiously.
Dad leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with
