ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN

SYLVIA'S POV

As we drove home, the car was filled with the joyful sound of our voices singing along to the radio. Zenith and Zendaya belted out the lyrics with enthusiasm, and I couldn’t help but join in, laughing as we tried to hit the high notes together.

“Mom, turn it up! This is our favorite song!” Zenith shouted over the music.

I cranked up the volume and we all sang even louder, the car vibrating with our energy. The stress of the past few weeks seemed to melt away with each verse.

When we finally pulled into the driveway, I felt a wave of relief. We hurried inside, and the kids quickly changed out of their uniforms, tossing them into the laundry basket.

"Alright, who wants to help me cook?" I asked, rolling up my sleeves.

"Me, me!" Zenith and Zendaya chorused, racing each other to the kitchen.

"Zenith, you can help me chop the vegetables," I said, handing him a small cutting board and a safe knife. "And Zendaya, why don't you help me stir the sauce?"

"Got it, Mom!" Zendaya said