I Found My Mafia Mom, A Cop Husband
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The smell of garlic bread lingered in the warm air of the kitchen, mingling with the soft clatter of dishes and the low volume of a radio tuned to static-laced jazz.
Dinner had been simple roasted chicken, vegetables, and mashed potatoes, but the moment was anything but ordinary.
Pearl sat at the table, fork in hand, her eyes bright as she recounted something from therapy. For the first time in weeks, her voice carried a spark of light.
“So I drew a beach,” she said, swinging her legs beneath her chair.
“With a big blue sky, and seashells, and a crab with sunglasses. Dr. Maynard said it was my ‘safe place.’ I told her it’s like here. Like our beach.”
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