The only way it doesn't hurt

Part Five

(Amelia's POV)

The bell rang just as I was about to place the first tray of cookie dough into the oven. I didn’t need to check who it was—only one person knocked like that. Three quick taps, followed by the chime of the bell like an afterthought. It was her signature, really. Like she didn’t want to startle me but still refused to wait too long outside.

“It’s open, Maya!” I called, nudging the tray into the oven with the back of my wrist and bumping the door shut with my hip.

The front door creaked open.

“Smells like heaven,” came her voice—dry and teasing. “If heaven was sugar, butter, and way too much indulgence for a Wednesday morning.”

I smiled without turning around, pulling the tea canister from the shelf. “Cookies for Isla. She asked last night with those big watery eyes, and I have zero spine.”

“I knew it,” Maya said, appearing at the edge of the kitchen in her usual effortless style. Wind-blown hair, scarf slung around her neck in that way only people who worked in galleries seemed able to do, and a coat that always smelled faintly like rosemary and museum paper. “You spoil that child. I hope she knows she’s the boss of this house.”

“She does,” I said, pouring water into the kettle. “It’s not a secret.”

From the living room, a soft thud followed by a shriek of delight interrupted us.

“May-may!” Isla’s little voice rang out, just before her tiny frame came barreling down the hall, dragging a crayon-streaked paper behind her like a flag.

Maya dropped to her knees just in time to catch her.

“There’s my girl!” she laughed, scooping Isla up and spinning once. “Have you been making masterpieces again?”

Isla giggled, squirming to be let down, and wobbled over to her pile of drawing paper spread out across the rug. “Fox,” she announced proudly. “This one sleepin’.”

Maya knelt beside her. “A sleeping fox, huh? Let me see.”

While the two of them hovered over Isla’s work, I leaned against the counter for a moment, taking it all in—the morning light pouring through the sheer curtains, the scent of cinnamon wafting from the oven, Isla’s sing-song voice explaining her drawings. These were the quiet parts of my life that mattered most. The parts I had no intention of letting go of, no matter what came next.

By the time the kettle whistled, I’d lost track of the minutes. I busied myself with tea—one mug of chamomile for Maya, black tea with honey for me. I placed them on the table just as Maya stood up and gave an exaggerated groan.

“She’s getting heavier,” she said, ruffling Isla’s hair. “Or I’m getting older. Don’t answer that.”

I laughed. “You’re timeless, Maya. You know that.”

Maya grinned and plopped herself onto the kitchen bench, stretching out like she owned the place. “You say that because I bring good gossip and free childcare.”

“And because you’re the only one who remembers how I take my tea,” I said, sliding her mug across.

She lifted it like a toast. “Cheers to old friendships and cookies that should be illegal before noon.”

We both sipped in silence for a while. Isla had returned to her drawing, humming a half-made-up tune under her breath. She occasionally glanced up at us, as if checking we were still there, then returned to her foxes and flowers.

“She’s happy,” Maya said softly.

I nodded, eyes on Isla. “She is. That’s all I wanted.”

“She’s lucky.”