Lulu stared at the ceiling tiles, each one a tiny square of white, and thought of the night she’d stayed up with Dawei, learning how to carve a wooden dragon for a school project. She had never imagined the dragon’s breath would be this sudden, this violent. Recovery is an artist’s canvas—every movement a brushstroke, every setback a smudge.
Every time a new canvas arrived, Lulu whispered a quiet thanks to the universe—for the storm that had shaken them, and for the calm that followed, painted in the hues of love, resilience, and the unbreakable bond of family. lulu chu familystrokes
, was the free spirit, the one who could spin a story out of a stray leaf. She visited daily, bringing homemade baozi and endless jokes. When she saw her father’s eyes flicker with recognition during a game of “guess the fruit” (the one where Dawei would name each fruit by its Chinese character), she laughed louder than ever, her laughter a bridge across the fear that threatened to collapse the family. Lulu stared at the ceiling tiles, each one