Cammy sat quietly in bed, her fingers moving with delicate precision as she sewed tiny baby mittens. The steady rhythm of the needle was soothing, almost meditative—a small comfort amidst the storm her life had become.
She was holding onto Grace's promise like a lifeline: that soon, she'd be able to see Dylan, even if only for a fleeting moment. That hope, no matter how fragile, gave her strength.
Andrea, sitting nearby with a soft blanket draped over her lap, watched her work in awe.
"It's rare nowadays to see women who still know how to sew," she commented, her tone filled with admiration. "Especially with such care."
Cammy offered a wistful smile, her eyes never leaving the small piece of fabric in her hands. "You're right. When I was pregnant with Dylan, I used to spend hours sewing little clothes for him. It made me feel close to him—even before he was born.
But life… it got too busy after he arrived. I had to let it go." Her voice trailed off, tinged with quiet regret.
