The afternoon sun painted the world in gold. For six-year-old Mila, that world was small and perfect, contained on a red-and-white checkered blanket at the edge of a deep, green forest. It smelled of sweet strawberries and her mother’s perfume. It sounded like her father’s deep laugh, a rumble that promised safety. This was everything—a fragile, warm bubble of family and light.
Then, a flicker...
