cover
In a warmly lit evening kitchen, Mum pipes pink frosting onto cupcakes on the tiled counter. Grandma, short brown hair bobbing, claps happily as a strand of twinkling fairy lights hangs above the baking trays.
Mum, twelve, frosted cupcakes with Grandma. “Your laugh is sunshine,” Mum said. Grandma’s short brown hair bobbed as she clapped. “I love celebrations,” Grandma said. Lights twinkled; hearts twinkled too.
On a dim living-room sofa at night, Grandma rests under a knitted blanket, hands trembling lightly. Mum sits close, squeezing her hand, as soft string lights glow on the wall and a muted television casts blue flickers.
One day, Grandma felt tired and shaky. “The doctor says it’s Huntington’s,” she whispered. Mum squeezed her hand. “Even resting, my love hugs you,” promised Grandma. They snuggled under a blanket, watching lights.
Beside a twinkling Christmas tree in the quiet living room at night, Mum cups a single lit candle, watching its flame dance. Colorful fairy lights sparkle behind her, reflecting in the window like distant stars.
Soon, Grandma went to a bright, peaceful place. Mum missed her hugs and voice. At Christmas, lights sparkled extra bright. “Is that you, Grandma?” Mum asked. Warmth bloomed; a candle danced.
At the dining-room table on a sunny birthday morning, Mum leans forward, eyes closed, making a wish over a small cake with glowing candles. Streamers dangle overhead and a framed photo of Grandma stands beside the plate.
On birthdays, Mum made a wish. She felt Grandma whisper, “I’m proud of you.” Laughter sounded like Grandma listening. “Love doesn’t end,” Mum said, smiling. She carried Grandma’s everywhere-love into every celebration.