Miranda stepped into her son's room. Her eyes roamed the walls, shelves and books, absorbing his essence. She sighed, stood, and started packing up the possessions. Soon his room would be transformed for the next generation, as a nursery for Adam's firstborn, and Miranda's first grandchild. As she cleared his desk she caught her reflection in his mirror. “Not too bad for a grandmother,” she smiled to her reflection. “Stil...