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I turned another page in Joanne's journal, the leather cover soft and worn from years of use, the ink a bit faded but still enough to pull me into her world.
The entry I landed on was dated just after Adrien's eighth birthday, some joyful ramble about how he insisted on wearing a cape to school for a week because "superheroes don't take days off," and how she let him, since watching him strut into the classroom like he owned the place was the highlight of her day.
I couldn't help but smile a little. "I wish I'd met her," I murmured, mostly to myself, tracing the looping letters with my fingertip.
"The way she writes about you here… it's clear you were the light of her life. From the moment you were born, apparently. You could've been the biggest little terror and she'd still have written sonnets about your sticky fingerprints all over the walls. I'm sure she loved you, no matter how dumb you were."
