>>Amber
The air in the house felt thick with anticipation. My mother had been cleaning for hours, sweeping, mopping, dusting, and polishing every surface she could find, as if the entire house could sparkle with enough effort. The curtains had been washed and ironed, the windows gleamed, and even the smallest details, like the arrangement of pillows on the couch, had been carefully considered. The scent of fresh flowers mixed with the lingering aroma of my mother's cooking, filling our home with warmth.
My father sat in the armchair, dressed in his best suit, his tie a little too tight around his neck, but he didn't seem to mind. His eyes kept flicking nervously toward the clock on the wall. My brother, Ron, was pacing back and forth, occasionally glancing at his reflection in the hallway mirror, adjusting his jacket. I could feel the tension in the room, the anticipation that had settled into every one of us.
