Page 150 of Scars and Crowns

"She's decided she needs to finish all the books in the children's section before the baby arrives." I laugh under my breath. "She has also made a schedule."

Anamika opens both eyes. "What schedule?"

"For after the baby is born."

"Oh, no."

"She showed it to me yesterday."

"And?"

"I was told very clearly that I would be responsible for following it."

Anamika groans. "Of course."

"Apparently she is Chief Supervisor."

"Of course she is."

"And she has assigned herself the first holding shift."

"She'll have to negotiate with me."

"Good luck."

Before Anamika can answer, the door opens without a knock. Sara walks in with a book tucked underneath one arm, looks at me, looks at her mother, and immediately takes in the fact that I'm sitting on the floor with her mother's foot in my lap. "Mumma's being difficult again?"

Anamika doesn't even open her eyes. "I am sitting right here."

"I know." Sara walks over and climbs onto the arm of the chair. "I asked Papa because he tells me the truth."

I look at my daughter. "That sounds like an accusation."

"It's not."

Anamika mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like "traitor."

Sara ignores her. Instead, she reaches behind her back and produces a mango. It is bruised. It is slightly misshapen. It also has a very clear thumbprint pressed into one side. She holds it out to her mother with both hands. "I brought you this."

Anamika opens her eyes. She stares at the mango. Then at Sara. "But I said I didn't want anyone asking me if I wanted something sweet."

"I didn't ask." Sara's expression is completely serious. "I brought it."

For a second, Anamika simply looks at her. Then she starts laughing. Not the polite little laugh she gives at formal dinners. Not the soft one she uses when she's trying not to wake Sara. A real laugh. Her shoulders shake, her eyes squeeze shut, and she reaches up to pull Sara into her arms. "You are impossible."

"I know."

"And I love you."

"I know that too."

I watch them, and the feeling that moves through me is so familiar now that I almost don't notice it anymore.

Almost.

There are moments when I look at them and remember the palace before they were here. How quiet it used to be. How every room felt larger than it needed to. How meals were eaten with perfect posture and very little conversation. How the gardens were maintained flawlessly and yet somehow never felt alive. How I once convinced myself that the silence was simply what came with responsibility.

I didn't understand then that a house could be beautiful and still feel empty. Now I can't imagine how I ever mistook the two.