Aliana’s POV

I make my way over to the counter, trying to offer my help. “Mercy, do you need any assistance?” I ask softly, knowing that her hands are usually full during these busy mornings.

Mercy glances up from her work, a tired smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’m almost done, Aliana,” she replies.

“Just a few more minutes, and then I’ll have everything ready.” I nod, accepting her answer even though a part of me longs to be more involved—to be part of the process of rebuilding our lives one meal at a time.

Deciding not to stand idle, I move to the coffee machine, preparing...