Years ago, she had traced the same lines hurriedly before work, before gatherings, before dinners she barely remembered now. But today was different.
The small apartment smelled faintly of lavender and rosewater. Curtains swayed gently at the windows, filtering afternoon light into soft golden streaks that fell across the floor. At the far end of the bedroom, where timeworn photographs of family lined the shelves, an old woman sat quietly before her mirror. Her name was Margaret Lane. … Read more