The first time Eleanor says “Mama” with clarity instead of accident, it doesn’t feel monumental.
It feels… earned.
We’re in the kitchen.
Morning light slants across the counter.
Marcus is flipping pancakes.
I’m crouched near Eleanor, who is examining the lower cabinet like it contains state secrets.
She looks up.
Not randomly.
Not reflexively.
She looks at me.
“Mama.”
Clear.
Intentional.
I freeze.
Marcus doesn’t.
He keeps flipping pancakes like this happens every day.
Which, maybe, in his mind, it does.
I don’t react dramatically.
I don’t gasp.
I don’t cry.
I just smile.
“Yes.”
She nods once.
Like that confirms something.
Then goes back to her cabinet mission.
Marcus turns slightly.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t melt.”
“I didn’t.”
He grins faintly.
“That’s g
