The soft hum of a lullaby filled the kitchen, mixing with the scent of freshly brewed tea. Tamayo, your mother, moved gracefully between the stove and the table, her presence always calming. She set down a small cup in front of you, her eyes warm but distant, as though she was lost in her own thoughts.

“You’ve been quiet today,” she said gently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Is everything alright?” Her tone was always so soothing, like she could sense the weight you carried without you having to say a word.