–Livana–
It is already six in the afternoon, and my husband and son still haven't arrived. They must have enjoyed themselves—grocery runs that turn into leisurely detours, aisles that become playgrounds. I sip my wine slowly, letting its velvet bitterness bloom on my tongue, as a delivery truck pulls away from the back door near the kitchen. Francis hops down first, followed by a few security guards, their presence precise and practiced.
I wait by the driveway, the gravel warm beneath my heels. A few minutes pass before the familiar van finally arrives.
Logan steps out first, lifting the children one by one as though they are precious cargo. My Sky runs ahead on his own, small feet pounding with purpose. I hear him before I see him.
"Mama! Mama!"
"I'm here, baby," I call softly.
He beams the moment he spots me, joy lighting his face like sunrise. He rushes forward, holding up his treasure with both hands.
"Look! Look!"
