8:57.
Emily looked at me.
“Mom…”
I nodded.
At 8:59, I took two glasses from the cabinet.
At exactly nine, I placed them on the table.
One in front of me.
One in front of Victor’s empty chair.
I poured my drink.
Then I poured the bitter fruit drink he had always loved into the second glass.
For a moment, I simply stared at it.
Then I smiled through my tears.
I lifted my glass.
“To another day, Victor.”
The chair remained empty.
The kitchen was silent.
But for the first time since he had gone, the silence didn’t feel completely empty.
Because I finally understood.
The drink had never been the most important part.
The most important part was that every night, for thirty-five years, Victor had found a reason to sit across from me and say,
“We made it through another day.”
And now, even though he was no longer there to say it…
