*Saoirse*

The morning light crept through the sheer curtains, casting warm stripes across the worn table where we gathered as a family. Rhys, with his tousled hair still hinting at sleep, carried in a tray of freshly baked bread and a pot of honey, the sweet aroma mingling with the crisp air of dawn.

"Good morning," I greeted our two children, who were already seated, their small hands fidgeting with anticipation for the meal ahead. They chirped a chorus of "Mama" and ...