Back in Amelia's bright, sunlit kitchen, the soft clink of cutlery and the faint sizzle from the stovetop blended with the gentle hum of her voice. She was humming almost absentmindedly, a quiet tune that matched the rhythm of her hands as she worked. The savory aroma of salmon and veal drifted through the open space, curling toward the living room like an unspoken invitation.
Outside in the driveway, Samuel adjusted his grip on an elegantly wrapped gift box. The deep green wrapping paper gleamed faintly in the sunlight, topped with a precise silver bow that looked as if it had been measured with a ruler because, knowing Samuel, it probably had. He walked just behind Alan, who maneuvered his wheelchair up the smooth path toward the front door.
In the calm of the moment, the doorbell's crisp chime rang through the house.
