The smell of vanilla and butter spread through the kitchen like a hug. I like to think that’s what Giulia feels when she wakes up—comfort in the shape of pancakes. The batter rested in a blue ceramic bowl, and I had already heated the pan. My morning mission was simple: make heart-shaped pancakes and wait for the soft sound of her little footsteps coming down the hallway.
I cut the fruit carefully, shaping small flowers out of slices of strawberry and kiwi. I wanted her to smile. After so many cloudy days, any small ray of light on Giulia’s face helped me breathe easier.
I heard light footsteps in the hallway, the shuffle of slippers. I smiled before even looking.
“Something smells good,” she murmured, appearing with messy hair and eyes still swollen with sleep.
“There’s a certain litt
