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59

I threw off the covers, freshened up, then went downstairs. As I got closer to the kitchen, I heard laughter, and I realized that laughter didn’t belong to Night. It was Mom and Violet, chatting and giggling.

I entered the kitchen and found the two of them standing by the stove. Violet was making the pancakes. She flipped one, and I watched the sweet, golden-brown treat soar in mid-air before landing in the pan again. My stomach rumbled, and the baby gave another ferocious kick.

“Bryn, honey,” Mom said, turning a beaming smile toward me. “Have breakfast with us.”

“With the grandmas!” Violet added, shifting the pancake onto a plate where a couple dozen of them were stacked.

“The grandmas?” I repeated with a smile. “It almost sounds like you two could be a band.”

Violet and Mom exchanged a mischievous glance. “But we could, couldn’t we?” Violet asked. “I’ll do the vocals, and you the flute, Glenda?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Mom nodded.

I laughed as I sat down at the table, which was already co
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