They both looked up at me, startled.
“Mom!” my daughter said, her face flushing. “You weren’t supposed to see this yet.”
I blinked. “See… what?”
Noah stood immediately. “We’re sorry if this looks weird,” he said quickly. “We were going to clean up.”
My daughter got to her feet and crossed the room, gently taking my hand. Her voice was nervous but steady.
“We’re working on something,” she said. “Together.”
I looked back at the floor. One photo caught my eye—my father, her grandfather, smiling weakly from a hospital bed. Another showed a local park. A third captured a stack of books beside a handwritten sign: Community Literacy Drive.
“What is all this?” I asked softly.
My daughter swallowed. “You know how Grandpa’s been struggling since his stroke,” she said. “He told me he hates feeling useless. He misses helping people.”
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