A Sister's Understanding

The heavy oak door of her grandmother’s sunroom creaked open, revealing a space bathed in the warm, honeyed light of late afternoon. Dust motes danced in the slanted beams, like tiny, golden fairies. Eleanor clutched the worn velvet box containing the locket, its cool weight a familiar comfort against her palm. Her grandmother, a woman built of gentle smiles and the scent of lavender, sat by the window, her knitting needles clicking a soft, rhythmic lullaby.

“Grandma?” Eleanor’s voice was a whisper, barely disturbing the quiet air.

Her grandmother looked up, her eyes, the same shade of sky-blue as Eleanor’s own, crinkling at the corners. “Eleanor, dear. Come in, come in. I was just thinking about you.” She patted the cushion beside her.