The kitchen smelled of cinnamonand butter. Elena rolled the dough softly, her fingers moving just the way her aunt and mom taught her years ago.
The pie crust was already taking shape, and Maria smiled faintly, watching her niece with pride.
"You haven't forgotten," Maria said, her tone gentle as she sprinkled flour on the counter.
Elena smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You and my mother taught me well, Aunt."
They shared a soft laugh, the kind that came from love and memories, not from jokes.
For a few minutes, it felt like peace had finally returned to Elena's life—no chaos, no fear, no Damian's piercing stare shadowing her thoughts.
Maria leaned her elbows on the counter, watching Elena carefully.
"You've grown so much," she murmured.
"But tell me, who really is this Damian? The one you're staying with. The one that helped me get the surgery?"
Elena's hand froze for a second before she forced a calm smile.
