We’re learning about butterflies. His eyes crinkled at the corners. Butterflies? Those are beautiful creatures. Do you have a favorite color? Purple, Nia said without hesitation, warming to the conversation. Mom says it’s the color of royalty, but I just think it’s pretty. Something flickered across Mr. Whitmore’s face at the mention of her mother.
His hands tightened slightly on the container. Your mother? Does she ever tell you stories about when she was your age? About her childhood? Nia shook her head, her braids swaying. Not really. Mom doesn’t talk much about when she was little. She giggled at the thought of her strong, serious mother as a child. The sound seemed to startle Mr.
Witmore, his breath caught, and she noticed his hands trembling slightly. “Thank you, Nia,” he said softly, his voice unsteady. You’re a very special young lady, just like He stopped himself, nodding quickly before stepping back inside. After the door closed, Elias Witmore moved through his quiet house with purpose, his breakfast forgotten on the kitchen counter.
