She asked me,
gently,
whether I had a favorite
bottled water.
I told her
I preferred the cheapest—
filtered water is filtered water,
after all.

She smiled
and offered me
a sip from her own bottle.

I accepted,
amused by the ritual.
But the taste
surprised me.
It was better.
Cleaner.
Almost sweet.

I did not ask the brand.
I did not need to.
The moment was not about marketing—
it was about openness.
About receiving
a quiet correction
with grace.
About letting my daughter
teach me something
I thought I already knew.

Even water has a witness.