Ivy placed a hand on Eden’s shoulder, a grounding presence. “I do,” she said. “Because I’ve seen you turn every challenge into a triumph. Remember when you built that entire greenhouse by yourself, even though you said you’d never touch a shovel?”

Eden forced a smile, the memory of mud‑caked boots and victorious laughter easing a fraction of the tension. “Yeah, but that was… different.”

Eden’s excitement, however, was quickly undercut by a familiar twitch in her neck. She had been rehearsing the perfect pitch for weeks, and the anxiety that always came with her perfectionism was beginning to rise.

Ivy, who had been quietly arranging a bouquet of lavender and rosemary, watched her sister’s agitation with a furrowed brow. She could see that Eden’s confidence was wavering, not from lack of preparation, but from the pressure she put on herself.

Ivy winked. “Sometimes a face slap is the most honest way to tell someone they’re taking themselves too seriously.”

The sisters clinked mugs, the gentle chime echoing the promise of many more mornings—some filled with calm, some with unexpected slaps, but all colored by the unbreakable bond that kept them steady, no matter what life tossed their way.

Eden laughed softly, the sound mingling with the rustle of the ivy outside the window. “And sometimes it’s a reminder that you’re not alone, no matter how big the challenge.”