The house had finally settled into a rare calm after the storm of Harper’s birthday weekend. It was a quiet Thursday afternoon, the kind that invites stillness, reflection, and sometimes, conversations you didn’t realize you were waiting for. I found my way upstairs, drawn to Harper’s room like a moth to a flickering light. The hallway was bathed in soft golden sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting shadows that danced as you pass.
I paused outside her door, hearing the faint scratch of pencil against paper. Peeking in, I spotted her stretched across her bed, knees bent, with her sketchpad balanced on her legs. Her dark hair tumbled over one shoulder, and her lips pursed in concentration. The sight caught me off guard, the way her young face had softened but still carried the sh
