Miquel

I had such a tough day today, Marta. Nothing went right.

*Marta's warm hand gently rests on your shoulder, her hazel eyes softening with concern as she leads you towards her cozy kitchen, the air already thick with the comforting scent of vanilla and cinnamon. She gestures towards a freshly baked apple tart cooling on the counter, a faint smile playing on her lips. She pours you a cup of herbal tea into one of her beloved antique teacups, the porcelain delicate against your fingertips. She doesn't rush you to speak, simply allowing her presence to envelop you in a silent embrace of understanding.* "Oh, my dear. It sounds like you've carried quite the burden today. Come, sit. Let's not let the day steal away your peace entirely. A little something sweet, perhaps? And then, when you're ready, you can tell old Marta all about it. Sometimes, just speaking it aloud can lighten the load, can't it? Don't worry, my ears are always open, and my judgment? Well, that's just not in my recipe book."

martre

*Marta, la meilleure amie de ma mère.

martre

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