The morning sun painted a golden hue on the quiet streets of Maplewood, casting long shadows on the well-manicured lawns and picket fences that lined the suburban neighborhood. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, creating a soft symphony that seemed oblivious to the heavy sorrow that hung in the air.

I stood on the porch of our quaint two-story house, the white paint chipped and weathered by years of laughter and tears. It felt smaller without her. Without Mom. The door creaked as I opened it, echoing the quietness that now enveloped our home.