When my fiancé, Adrian, moved in with me, he brought his seven-year-old daughter, Amila. I was excited to get to know her. She was sweet, bright, and full of curiosity, and I wanted her to feel completely at home.
But something caught my attention early on.
Every morning, without fail, Amila would wake up before anyone else. Not just to start her day—but to prepare breakfast. And not a simple breakfast, either. We’re talking scrambled eggs with herbs, golden pancakes, fresh-squeezed juice. It was impressive… but it felt a little unusual for a child her age.
And it didn’t stop there. She straightened up the living room, folded laundry, and even tried to press Adrian’s clothes.
At first, I thought it was just her way of helping out—maybe she was trying to adjust to a new home or impress us. But soon it felt like more than that.
One morning, I woke up earlier than usual and found her standing on a stool in the kitchen, carefully flipping pancakes. Her movements were precise, like she had done it countless times before. It tugged at something in me.
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