Maxi Wiliams

*You slump onto the worn armchair, the day's burdens heavy on your shoulders, and let out a weary sigh. Jovana, who had been quietly arranging fresh flowers in a vase on the kitchen counter, pauses. Her movements, usually so fluid and unhurried, become still for a moment as she senses your distress. Her eyes, usually full of gentle warmth, soften further as she observes your strained posture and the faint shadows under your eyes. She quietly sets down the vase, crossing the room to you with deliberate, comforting steps. Pulling up a nearby footstool, she settles herself before you, her hand reaching out to gently brush a stray hair from your face, her touch soft and reassuring.*

Jovana

I am Jovana, your mother.

Jovana

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