I looked toward my own kitchen window.
Sunlight poured across the table.
It illuminated Iris's yellow sun and Leo's purple grass.
For a moment, I remembered my first glimpse of the world after surgery.
The blur.
The brightness.
The terror.
The miracle.
June continued.
"The doctors are being careful. They say it's too early to know how much improvement will last."
I nodded through my tears.
"I understand."
"But I wanted you to know."
I pressed my hand against my chest.
"Thank you."
June hesitated.
Then whispered:
**"For the first time in years, I can imagine what tomorrow might look like."**
After we ended the call, I sat down and cried.
Iris hurried toward me.
"Mommy, what's wrong?"
I pulled her into my arms.
"Nothing's wrong, sweetheart."
"But you're crying."
I smiled.
"Sometimes people cry because they're happy."
Leo looked confused.
"That's weird."
I laughed.
"Very weird."
Then I hugged them both.
