Once, a spoonful of sugar could make the impossible feel kind. Now the world had grown heavy, obsessed with engines and schedules, with progress that left little room for whimsy. Her children had stopped believing. The adults had stopped pretending.
Mary Poppins felt it in the air. Magic thinning, like mist burned away by too much certainty. She had spent a lifetime arriving when she was needed and leaving before she was missed, but this time the leaving felt final. There were no songs left to teach, no unruly hearts still open to wonder.
Even the sky had learned to march in straight lines.
Mary watched the boat fade into fog and felt the quiet ache of being no longer needed, of magic gently closing its own umbrella and stepping out of the rain, not in sorrow, but in weary grace, carrying all the forgotten miracles with her.
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