I was in the kitchen flipping pancakes while David hovered nearby, pretending not to steal bacon off the plate, and Adelina stood by the counter slicing strawberries, acting just as innocent.
“Don’t eat all of that before breakfast,” I said without turning around.
“I’m not,” David replied, already chewing.
Adelina smirked. “He’s lying.”
I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
Then someone knocked on the door.
And everything changed.
When I opened it, a woman stood there, her face pale and tense, her hands clenched so tightly they had turned white. She looked like she had rehearsed this moment a thousand times but still wasn’t ready.
“I know you don’t know me,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I’m Adelina’s mother. Thank you for raising my daughter.”
For a second, I just stared at her.
