THE night was quiet in Amelia’s room, the only sound the gentle hum of the ceiling fan spinning lazily above. She stood before the mirror, adjusting her silk bonnet over her hair, smoothing it down carefully. Hazel was already asleep, curled up on the bed, her breathing soft and steady. She had insisted she wanted to spend the night with her.
Just as Amelia turned to slip beneath the covers, her phone rang out from the dresser. The screen lit up, breaking the dimness of the room. She walked over and glanced at it.
Mom.
A smile tugged at her lips. She swiped the call.
“Hello, Mommy.”
“Amelia, my dear,” Mrs. Harlow’s voice came warm, tinged with that familiar pride. “Were you already asleep?”
“Not yet,” Amelia said softly, glancing toward Hazel. “I was just about to.”
“Good, good,” h
