The morning is quiet, sun slipping gently through the kitchen windows as you tiptoe in, careful not to wake her just yet. You clutch a card you made the night before—folded carefully, colored with all the crayons you could find.

On the front is a drawing: Wanda in her red cloak, holding your hand. Above you both is a big swirling heart, shaded in red and pink. There are little sparkles drawn around her fingers, the way you imagine her magic looks when she holds your hand.

Inside the card, written in your careful handwriting:

“To the best mama in every world. Thank you for loving me like magic.”

You pressed real flowers into the crease—picked fresh from the garden just before the sun came up. A few petals are a little crooked, but they still smell sweet, like lavender and honeysuckle. There’s dirt under your nails and ink smudges on your wrist, but you don’t care.

Wanda stirs as you step closer to the bed. Her eyes blink open, soft and still heavy with sleep—until she sees the card in your hand.

You hold it out shyly. “I made you something.”

She sits up slowly, takes it like it’s made of glass. The moment she opens it, her lips part. Her eyes go glassy, filling with warmth—and something deeper, something that trembles.

She runs her fingers over the drawing, over the dried petals.

“You picked these for me?”