The scent of vanilla invaded Clara’s mind, and brought her right back to her mother’s kitchen. She imagined herself running down the steps, making sure to skip over the squeaky one, to find herself face-to-face with some sugary treat that her mother was baking.
“Why are you up?” Theresa asked.
Clara would always slow down at this point, hoping that her sisters would sleep a while longer.
“Do I smell vanilla?” Clara would always answer.

Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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