PREVIEW

... itchen, the lantern’s golden glow danced softly across aged wood and worn shelves.

It flickered against the rising steam of a gently simmering pot, bubbling with a humble, homemade promise.

Maira stood before it—barefoot, apron tied tight around her waist, hair pulled messily back. Her blouse clung to her with sweat, the neckline damp where the heat clung too thick.

Her breath came shallow but steady. Every movement deliberate. Every stir of the spoon slow and circular. < ...

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