And that was everything.
EPILOGUE
RIVEN
Six months later
I wokeup to the smell of toast turning into charcoal.
I sat up, blinking against the light, and reached for the empty spot next to me. Mireya’s side of the bed was already cold, so she must have been up for quite a while. Luckily, the smoke alarm hadn't started screaming yet, which I took as a positive sign.
I pulled on sweatpants and walked toward the kitchen. The scent of burnt bread mixed with something that smelled like eggs—or possibly a failed chemistry experiment.
Emma was standing at the stove, waving a dish towel frantically at a smoking pan. Music was blaring from her phone, and she was singing along quite badly to a pop song I didn’t know. Her eyes never once left the phone screen propped against the backsplash, even as smoke curled up around her.
Mireya was sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee, watching the chaos with a grin she wasn't trying very hard to hide.
“Should we jump in and help?” I leaned over Mireya and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head.
“No way. This is way too entertaining,” she whispered back.
Emma spun around so fast she almost dropped the pan. “You two are awful. I’m trying to make us breakfast here!”
“And you’re doing such a wonderful job,” Mireya said. Her voice was so serious that it took Emma a second to realize she was being sarcastic.
“You know what? Fine. You can both starve.” Emma scraped the black remains of the eggs into the trash. “I wanted to do something nice before my volunteer shift started, but clearly no one appreciates my hard work.”
“We appreciate it,” I said, gently taking the pan before she could melt it. "But maybe we'll stick to cereal this morning."
Emma rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. “You two are already ganging up on me. Is this what my life is now? Dealing with a united front?”
"We're not ganging up," Mireya protested.
"You literally just told me to eat cereal instead of cooking!"
“That’s common sense, not a conspiracy against you.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee while they bickered. I felt a sense of peace in my chest that I hadn't expected to feel again. This kitchen, this quiet morning, and these people made everything feel right. Six months ago, a moment like this would have seemed impossible, but now it was just a normal Tuesday morning.
Mireya’s phone buzzed on the counter. She checked the screen and smiled. “My mom wants to grab coffee this afternoon.”
“Amara?” I asked.
“Unless I have a secret second mother I don’t know about.” She started typing a reply. “I’m going to ask if Emma can join us. Mom's been dying to meet her properly."
Emma looked up from her cereal, spoon frozen midway to her mouth. “Really? Your mom wants to hang out with me?”
“She thinks you’re delightful,” Mireya said. “It’s a bit concerning, but I’m not going to argue with her.”
“Iamdelightful.”
“That’s highly debatable.”
I watched them for a moment. These two women had become so important to each other over the last half a year. Emma had found in Mireya what I'd hoped she would: someone who saw her as more than just my sister, more than just a patient recovering from surgery.
“Coffee sounds like a great idea,” Emma said. “What time are we meeting?”
"Three. I'll be done with surgery by then."
