The gentle clinking of a spoon against porcelain echoed softly at the dining table. The scent of homemade chicken soup filled the room, seeping into the corners of Eliana’s unsettled mind. Shopia served the meal with care, even ladling the soup into Eliana’s bowl herself, like a real mother would.

“This soup is made especially for you, Eliana. With real chicken bone broth and a touch of ginger. Good for warming the body… and the heart,” Shopia said gently, her eyes resting on Eliana with a warm, loving smile.

Eliana gave a small nod. Her hand held the spoon, but she didn’t take a bite. There was warmth all around...