Chapter 1: The Sunlit Years
Amelia's childhood was a symphony of warmth and wonder. The world felt vast but safe, and every corner of her small neighborhood was a treasure waiting to be discovered. She lived with her mother in a modest apartment on the top floor of an old brick building, its creaky stairs and peeling paint more charming than bothersome.
Her mother, Sarah, was a force of nature—always humming a tune, always busy with something. She worked two jobs, but she never let her exhaustion show. Evenings were their time together. Sarah would pull Amelia onto her lap, her calloused hands weaving through her daughter's hair as she told stories of princesses who didn't need rescuing and explorers who found treasures in the most unexpected places.
"Life is what you make of it, sweetheart," Sarah would say, her voice soft but resolute. "Even if all you have is a patch of dirt, you can grow flowers."
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The summers were Amelia's favorite.
Every morning, she'd race outside with her friends, a jumble of kids from their building. The world was their playground. They built forts from broken chairs and cardboard boxes, waged epic water balloon battles, and scavenged for coins to buy popsicles from the corner store.
Sarah always made time for small adventures, even on her rare days off. They'd take the bus to the park, where Amelia would run barefoot through the grass while Sarah read her favorite mystery novels on a blanket. Sometimes they'd splurge on ice cream cones, licking them quickly before the summer sun turned them into sticky puddles.
"Don't grow up too fast," her mother would tease as Amelia skipped ahead.
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The winters were no less magical.
Though the heating in their apartment was unreliable, Sarah turned it into an adventure. They'd bundle up in layers, draping blankets over their shoulders like royal capes, and sit by the tiny electric heater telling ghost stories. The windows would frost over, and Amelia would draw pictures on the glass with her finger, dreaming up faraway castles and enchanted forests.
On Christmas Eve, Sarah always made hot cocoa with marshmallows—despite the fact that marshmallows weren't in their budget. "Some things are worth the splurge," she'd say with a wink. They didn't have a tree most years, but Sarah would string up lights around the window, and they'd stay up late watching old movies, laughing and singing along to the songs.
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School, too, was a happy place for Amelia in those