The morning our story begins, Nattydatty sat at the kitchen table, chin propped in her hands, staring at a bowl of oatmeal as if it held the secrets to the universe. Her mother, a painter who worked in the sunroom and often forgot to brush her hair before noon, slid a glass of orange juice toward her.
They stepped inside. The apartment was tidy but lived-in. A half-knitted scarf lay draped over the arm of the floral chair. A mug with a tea bag still in it sat on the side table. But there was dust on the mug. And on the windowsill, the petunias drooped like tiny, defeated umbrellas. 8yo nattydatty
, potentially referencing "Natty Datty," which is often a shorthand for "Natural Dad" (Natty Daddy) or related curated gift lists. The morning our story begins, Nattydatty sat at