Chapter 8

If there is something that I truly adore about my kitchen, it is that, during warm afternoons, the light that comes from the window makes the place appear to be somewhat warm and cozy.

He sat on a chair beside the table with his little legs ticking back and forth as always when he had something troubling him. The uncertainty that ordinarily is well camouflaged by the mutual pleasure of our talks was evident in his changing eyes, foggy and obscure at that moment.

“Here you go, sweetie,” I said, putting the plate on the table in front of him and running my fingers through his hair. "Eat up. "

Owen then grabbed an apple slice but did not put it in his mouth right away. He simply looked at it, with a thoughtful expression on his face. Then his eyes met mine and he became completely serious.

“Mommy, may I talk to you about something?” He asked in a low tone as though asking the question was the most difficult thing he had to do.

I felt like I had a realization, my heartbeat increased a