The Unfurling Leaf

Eleanor traced the condensation on the windowpane, a silent map of her thoughts. The cool glass against her fingertip was a grounding sensation, a small anchor in the swirling currents of memory. She saw them, not as they were now, grown and with lives of their own, but as they had been. Small hands reaching, bright eyes wide with wonder. And she heard their voices, clear as the chime of a distant bell.

"Mommy, are you scared?"

The question, innocent and direct, had sprung from the lips of her youngest, their small face tilted up at her, a perfect replica of trust. She had been trying to hide it, the tight knot of dread that had coiled in her stomach, the shadow that had fallen across her heart. She’d wanted to shield them, to be their fortress, their unwavering bright light.