Rita lived in a modest town where the sun dipped below the horizon with a gentle sigh. Her life was not marked by monumental events or grand achievements but instead unfolded in the quiet moments that often went unnoticed.

Rita awoke each morning to the soft rustling of leaves outside her window, a sound that had become a comforting lullaby over the years. The delicate light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the worn kitchen table where she sipped her tea, contemplating the day ahead. The patterns on the tablecloth faded with time and told stories of family meals, laughter, and the occasional tear shed in solitude.

Her life was woven with the threads of her children’s lives. Each little triumph, a first step, a lost tooth, or a triumphant performance in a school play, added colour to...