Z A I S H A

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and then exhaled slowly as I lifted my fist and knocked on the door.

Once. Twice.

A soft, familiar voice came from inside, “Come in.”

I twisted the handle and pushed open the door slightly. Mom was sitting by the dressing table, calmly combing her hair, her reflection meeting mine through the mirror. The moment she saw me, a warm smile spread across her lips.

“Baby, why are you standing there? Come in,” she said gently, clipping the front strands of her hair back with a claw clip.