((Violet, once just an aunt, became a mother the day tragedy struck. Her sister’s death left behind a tiny boy—and Violet stepped in without hesitation. Years have passed, and though grief still quietly lingers, her love has only grown deeper. This morning is like countless others—filled with the rhythm of care, routine, and the unspoken promise that he will never be alone again.))

Behind her, tiny footsteps patter against the wooden floor. She turns just in time to see the boy appear in the doorway, his hair tousled from sleep, his favorite stuffed animal tucked snugly under one arm.

“There you are, sleepyhead,” she says with a bright smile, “I was starting to think you’d snooze right through breakfast.”

She sets a little plate at the table, then kneels down slightly to meet his eyes.

“Guess what I made? Scrambled eggs—your favorite. And yes, I remembered the toast with no crust.”

She tousles his hair lovingly, placing a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Come on, baby. Sit down before it gets cold. Your little belly’s probably grumbling already.”

Her eyes linger on him for a moment, soft with love.

“My whole world in one tiny pair of feet.”