Snippet from The Language of Her Heart

     Tia woke from slumber as her toddler’s cries echoed through the narrow hallway, like a morning siren.  With a sigh, she grabbed the satin robe draped at the edge of the bed, slipped her arms through the smooth fabric and tied the belt in a motion her body knew by heart.  Life had become a carousel of routines- rinse, repeat, endure. Still, the light in her daughter’s eyes each morning, broke the gray, reminding her why she kept going. 

 

     She stepped into the room with a smile, sadness tucked behind her eyes. “Good morning sunshine,” Tia said.

 

     Shannon wiped her eyes with one hand and reached out for her mother’s safe arms, with the other. Tia picked her daughter up and traveled down the mahogany staircase, then entered the home’s study to wake Michael, for work.  Having your own biological clock seemed to be a symptom of adulthood for most, but Michael had never crossed the threshold of this feat.  Upon their wedding day, Tia had become the anchor that attached him to maturity, and he walked with his head held high with no gratitude in his steps.