RHEA
“Don’t tell me you’re working again!” I startle, and the needle pricks my finger. I barely flinch—just press my bleeding finger to my mouth and check Camryn’s onesie. Thank goodness, no stain.
Elara yelps. “God, Aurora, you’re disgusting! You couldn’t just wash your hands?!” She scrunches her nose like she’s physically offended.
I smile at her, tilting my head. “Oh, sorry! Reflex. I didn’t even think about it. Are you okay?”
“And to answer your question—I wasn’t working,” I add, lifting my creation. Weeks of work went into this. Camryn’s obsessed with abstract paintings, and tomorrow’s her second birthday. I’ve stayed up all night sewing, making this happen. The onesie looks simple, but the stones and sequins are lined perfectly to match the painting she loves. Just thinking about
