Sally's POV
Morning light filters through the kitchen windows, carrying the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Juliette remains perched at the counter, nursing her second cup while lost in thought. Warren nestles against my side, finally alert and content, his small fingers tracing patterns along the edge of his blanket.
My attention falls to the fabric draped across his lap. The wool appears handmade, with irregular stitches and mismatched sections that speak of careful affection rather than professional skill. I stroke the material gently. The texture feels incredibly soft, displaying a weathered blue shade threaded with delicate silver strands.
"Where did this come from, sweetheart?"
Warren tilts his head toward me. "My Nanna knitted it," he explains simply.
Juliette's attention snaps up immediately, confusion creasing her features. Her questioning gaze finds mine across the space.
