Luna was exactly one month old when she smiled for the first time—really smiled, not the random muscle twitches that babies mistake for joy. It happened while Seraphina was changing her diaper in the nursery, early morning sunlight streaming through the windows.
"There we go, baby girl," Seraphina murmured, fastening the fresh diaper. "All clean and—"
Luna looked up at her mother and smiled. A deliberate, conscious expression of pure happiness.
And the world changed.
Not metaphorically. Literally. The morning light in the nursery intensified, becoming warmer, softer, like liquid gold. Every plant in the room bloomed simultaneously—the orchids Eleanor had sent, the peace lily from Helena, even the supposedly dead succulent Damon had been meaning to throw out. The air itself seemed to shimmer with contentment.
