THREE YEARS LATERTHIRD PERSON POINT OF VIEWThree years had passed.Life no longer felt like something they were surviving. It felt like something they were living. Slowly and peacefully.The little bell above the bakery door chimed as the last morning customer stepped out into the soft Italian sunlight. The street outside was calm, lined with flower pots and pale stone buildings that warmed under the sun. The scent of sugar and baked bread lingered in the air, sweet and comforting.Behind the counter stood Karline, tying a thin ribbon around a pastel pink box of pastries. A loose strand of hair had slipped from her bun, and there was flour faintly dusted along her apron. She looked content, not tired, not overwhelmed, just quietly fulfilled.“Mumma, all the blueberry muffins sold out?”She looked down immediately.Ethan stood in front of her, now eight years old, taller, leaner, with the same bright eyes and that wide, toothy smile that had somehow grown even more charming with time
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