It was a stormy morning. Fog curled up from the ground and filled the air in a thick whiteout so dense you could barely see your own hand when you held it out in front of you. Aurelia and Scilla had both decided to stay home. There was no point in going out; Aurelia doubted the bookstore would need her today, and Scilla figured the library wouldn't open with visibility this low. Scilla padded downstairs to light the fireplace. The stonework stretched up the wall smooth and cool beneath her fingers, a blend of soft gray, earthy brown, and unexpected flecks of muted color that shimmered when the light hit just right. She struck a match, lit the fire, and watched the flames flicker to life. After a moment, she closed the glass front and stepped back. The living room wrapped around her like a favorite sweater: warm burgundy and smoky gray walls, rows of bookshelves, and her favorite reading nook tucked under the bay windows. The built-in bench was cushioned in black, a soft pillow always propped at her back. Hanging plants swayed gently from the ceiling, trailing green vines that framed the windows. Outside, the autumn-themed stained glass was dotted with water droplets, streaking slowly downward, blurring the fog and the trees beyond into something dreamlike.
Scilla moved into the kitchen and pulled out Aurelia's favorite mug before setting up the coffee. As the rich aroma filled the space and the last of the percolating slowed, she heard footsteps on the stairs. Aurelia appeared just as Scilla reached the emerald, green countertop, its surface gleaming against the deep cherry oak base beneath. Her arms were full of scrapbooks, photo albums, and several small boxes packed with old family photos. Scilla poured the coffee into both mugs, hers a simple navy blue with silver designs on it, Aurelia's one of those handmade ceramic ones, slightly lopsided, with a sun and flowers painted on the side. She handed it over wordlessly. Aurelia offered a soft "Thanks," her voice still thick with sleep and something quieter beneath it. She set the small boxes down on the countertop, the albums and scrapbooks landing with a dull thud that felt heavier than it should have. Scilla raised her eyebrows. "What's this?" She asked with a hoarse voice. Aurelia wrapped her hands around the warm mug, her morning blonde hair covered one side of her face, messy like. "I couldn't sleep last night. Kept thinking about Mom. Thought maybe…" Aurelia trailed off, then shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe we should look through these." She finished looking down at her hands that held her morning coffee. She subconsciously held her breath while waiting for her sister's response. After a brief silence, Scilla glanced at the boxes, her stomach tightening. "Now?" her voice cracked, trying to keep her voice steady, but she failed. Aurelia met her gaze. "We don't have to. I just felt like maybe it would help." She gulped, her throat feeling dry as her heart started to race, fearing she'd upset her sister. "I don't want to forget her, you know? I already forgot her voice. I don't want us to forget her face..." Aurelia said as tears threatened to spill down her face. There was a long pause between them, filled only by the soft crackle of the fireplace and the distant tap of rain on glass. Then Scilla nodded. "Okay. Yeah. Let's do it." She said, feeling a little unsteady on her feet. "Let's move to the table, though," Scilla said as she started picking up the scrapbooks and family albums. Aurelia agreed and grabbed the boxes and two coffee mugs.
They both met in the middle of the room where the large, dark coffee brown wooden hickory table stood, with eight beautiful cream padded dark hickory wooden chairs sat perfectly across from each other. They sat at the table, knees brushing beneath it, steam curling up from their mugs. Aurelia opened the first album carefully, like she was afraid the memories might spill out too fast if she wasn't gentle. Scilla pulled her messy morning hair back into a sloppy bun and put her glasses on. Aurelia reached for her glasses and put them on. She took a breath, and they both looked at the first photo. There was their mother, young and sunlit on a beach somewhere, brownish blonde hair windblown, laughing at something just off camera. Scilla sucked in a breath. "Gosh, I forgot about this day." Aurelia smiled faintly. "She made us collect seashells for hours." Aurelia said softly, "You cried when yours broke in half." Scilla said with a soft, broken smile. "You gave me yours," Aurelia replied distantly. Scilla continued to smile, but it was a fragile thing. "She always said we were better together," Scilla said, her voice cracked, and a tear escaped her heavy eyes. It ran down her face and fell on her lap. She hoped her sister didn't see it.
Aurelia's fingers brushed the corner of the photo, her eyes glimmering. "We still are." She replied, remembering that day in the sand and sun. They kept flipping through, memory after memory rising like breath on a cold morning, each one a little sharper, a little softer than the last. They didn't speak much. They didn't need to. The photos said enough. Aurelia turned another page in the album, and they both stilled. There she was. Their mother stood near the wooden railing of the zoo's giraffe enclosure, her smile radiant and sunlit, arm outstretched, feeding a big leaf to one of the giraffes in the enclosure. She wore that bright pink lace dress, the one with delicate pearl embroidery that shimmered subtly even in the faded photograph. Her shoes matched, pearl-colored with a tiny heel, dusted from walking the zoo paths all day. Her brownish-blonde hair was swept into a neat bun, though a few strands had slipped loose, curling around her cheek. She looked effortlessly beautiful, so alive, so herself. And there they were. Scilla, five years old, in a baby blue, slightly fluffy dress, her brown hair in pigtails that bounced unevenly at her shoulders. She was holding Aurelia's hand with a surprisingly firm grip for someone so small. Aurelia, a year older, stood just a step ahead, wearing a pale green version of the same dress. Her blonde hair had been tied into matching pigtails. All three were smiling. Aurelia's grin was wide and toothy; Scilla's was softer, like she was half-focused on the camera and half-entranced by her mother's outstretched arm. Scilla reached out and gently ran her finger along the edge of the photograph, her breath hitching. "I don't remember this day at all." She said sadly. Aurelia leaned closer and spoke. "Me neither. Doesn't even matter, does it?" Aurelia and Scilla looked at the photo for a little while, both memorizing the photo and their mother's smile.
They sat in silence for a beat longer before Scilla noticed something behind the photo a piece of folded paper, neatly tucked into the sleeve of the album. She carefully slid it out, the edges slightly yellowed with time. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it. It was their mother's handwriting. Elegant. Looped. Familiar.
My Girls,
If you're reading this, it means time has done what time does: it's moved on. Maybe I'm not there with you now. Not the way I want to be. But if I could choose any day to remember us by, it would be this one.
The sun was warm, the giraffes were lazier than ever, and both of you held hands without being asked. You giggled when they bent their necks to eat, and you both insisted we stay an extra hour to see the elephants. I remember thinking, this is it. This is everything. And I was right.
You are my heart walking in two pieces. If you feel lost, find each other. If you feel broken, hold tighter. You are never alone; you carry me, always. In your kindness. In your laughter. In your courage to keep loving, even when it hurts.
The world will try to make you forget the soft things. Don't let it. Remember this day. Remember this kind of love. And let it guide you home.
All my love, forever and beyond,
Mom
The silence that followed was thick with emotion, but not empty. Scilla wiped her tears from her cheeks. "She knew." She said above a cracked whisper. Aurelia's voice broke softly. "She always did." Heartbreak in her voice. They sat there a while longer, hands wrapped around warm mugs and hearts pressed to something both aching and beautiful. The fog outside still lingered, but in the living room, a little more light had found its way in. Aurelia carefully folded the letter and tucked it back into the album pocket, her fingers lingering on the edge like she didn't want to let go. She closed the album gently, as if sealing something sacred back inside. The silence held thick, but not uncomfortable. Just full. The soft crackle of the fire drifted in from the living room, and the tall grandfather clock down the hall ticked its slow, steady rhythm, a quiet reminder that time was still moving, even when they didn't feel like they were. Scilla didn't look up. Her eyes stayed fixed on her coffee cup, fingers wrapped tightly around it for warmth or steadiness or both. "Do you remember the song Mom used to sing to us?" she asked, her voice almost too soft to hear. Aurelia's brow furrowed. "She sang a lot of songs…" she replied, confused. "No," Scilla said, a bit more sure now. "The one. The one she'd sing when one of us was sick. Or couldn't sleep." Aurelia was quiet for a beat. Then: "Oh. Yeah." She smiled, just a little. "The one about the stars." Scilla nodded slowly. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Sleep, my love, the stars are near..." Aurelia picked it up without hesitation, her voice shaky at first, but true. "They'll hold your dreams and keep you here. Soft the night and kind the sky, close your eyes, and don't you cry."
The words drifted between them like smoke, half-sung, half-breathed. The melody came back with surprising ease, and so did the ache it carried. It was the lullaby of their childhood, of warm arms and forehead kisses and lights dimmed low. Tears rolled down Scilla's cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away. Aurelia reached across the table and took her hand, just like she had in the photo all those years ago. Scilla squeezed back. "I used to think that song had magic in it," Scilla said, voice trembling. "Like… if she sang it, nothing could hurt us." Aurelia gave a small, sad laugh. "Maybe it still does. Just… not the kind we thought." She replied with a bittersweet tone. Outside, the fog had begun to lift, the white blur slowly unraveling to reveal the outline of trees and rooftops in the distance. Inside, the warmth of the fire, the smell of coffee, and the echo of their mother's song hung in the air like a blessing. This was the most life this house had seen inside in so long, it seemed more like a dream rather than the reality it had been the last year in a half.
After finishing their coffee, the girls went upstairs, quietly parting with a shared glance that said more than words ever could. Scilla changed first, slipping into a pair of light lavender, knitted lounge pants that hung baggy around her legs, pooling slightly at her warm white socks. She paired them with a matching lavender sweater, soft and oversized, the neckline slipping casually off one shoulder. Her brown hair was swept into a loose side ponytail, resting gently against her right shoulder blade and collarbone. The necklace that her mother gave her rested on her chest on the outside of her shirt. She walked over to one of the tall bookshelves and scanned the spines, her fingers dancing across the titles like they knew exactly what she needed. She pulled a well-loved novel from the shelf, one with folded corners and notes scribbled in the margins. Downstairs, she turned on the TV and let soft lo-fi beats hum quietly into the room, a slow rhythm of calm that filled the silence without overtaking it. She curled into the window nook, her usual spot, nestled into the black cushioned bench with a pillow tucked at her back. The rain hadn't stopped, and now the glass before her, autumn-themed and multicolored in soft oranges, deep reds, and mellow golds, was streaked with droplets. They slid slowly down the panes, weaving through leaves of stained glass, blurring the outside world into a watercolor wash of fog and drizzle. Scilla sighed softly, opened her book, and let the quiet of the fire and music carry her away. Aurelia came down the stairs a few minutes later, her steps soft against the wooden floor. She wore pale pink socks and black slippers, her dark gray fitted sweats paired with an oversized long-sleeved shirt that hung casually off her left shoulder. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a messy bun, wisps escaping in gentle curls at her temples. She passed through the room without saying much, just a glance toward Scilla in the nook, a slight smile shared between them.
Aurelia grabbed a book of her own, then settled onto the couch that faced the fireplace. The flames crackled softly behind the glass, casting warm shadows across the burgundy and smoky gray walls. The built-in shelf within the stone fireplace held their 65-inch TV, now dark and quiet beneath the gentle flicker of firelight. The house was still. No cars outside, no phones buzzing, no demands pulling at them from the world. Just two sisters, books in hand, hearts still heavy but surrounded by warmth. It wasn't healing. Not yet. But it was a beginning.