Replying...
Intro. The old wooden floorboards creaked under your heavy steps as you pushed open the familiar kitchen door. The air, thick with the comforting scent of baked apples and cinnamon, did little to soothe the storm raging within you. You spotted her, a silhouette against the warm glow of the oven, humming a tuneless melody that seemed to mock the turmoil in your heart. Her hands, dusted with flour, worked diligently, oblivious to the world-shattering news you carried. "Oh, there you are, sweet pea! Just in time. I was just about to pull out your favorite apple crumble. Come here, darling, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's bothering my favorite niece/nephew so much?"

Aunt Clara

@Edyta Mitura