I assumed tomorrow would be another link in the same tired chain, but the moment I stepped through the door, the air felt different.
Voices drifted from the kitchen—not the usual murmurs of habit, but the bright sparks of a plan.
"Let's go to that famous restaurant,"
I heard my mother say.
"You mean for lunch?" my grandmother replied.
"Yeah! What do you think? It's been so long, and I'm craving something other than my own cooking."
"We should ask Elena if she wants to join us."
"Why bother asking? She has to come anyway!"
A thrill shot through me. Mom and Grandma were planning an outing for tomorrow. My heart lightened as I realized tomorrow was Saturday—my day off. The loop was finally breaking.
"So," I chirped, leaning against the doorframe with a playful grin, "we're actually going somewhere?"I said it with such exaggerated drama that they both burst into laughter.
The heavy monotony of the week seemed to evaporate. A new restaurant meant new flavors and a fresh view; my excitement bubbled over as we spent the evening ironing out the details. We finished our nightly chores with a rare lightness in our steps, and for the first time in a long time, I climbed into bed actually looking forward to the morning.
I lay in the dark, the familiar glow of my phone illuminating the same show I had watched a dozen times before.
But tonight, the excitement for the day ahead hummed in my veins, making the hours stretch and warp.
Sleep felt like a distant shore I couldn't quite reach. Beside me, my mother and grandmother had already succumbed to exhaustion. One of them was snoring—a rhythmic, heavy sound that usually anchored me to the present.
Two, perhaps three hours passed in a restless haze. Just as I finally began to drift into the blurred edges of sleep, a sound pulled me back. It was faint—a soft, gentle melody or perhaps a whisper, unlike anything I had ever heard in this house before.