“Come inside,” Margaret said.
The girl hesitated.
“You won’t get in trouble.”
Slowly, she stepped inside.
Margaret wrapped her in a warm towel and made her some hot chocolate.
The little girl looked at the kitchen table.
There were still two plates.
“Is someone coming?”
Margaret looked at the empty chair.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Then why do you always put two plates?”
Margaret smiled sadly.
“Because some people are worth remembering.”
The girl didn’t understand.
Not yet.
But she sat down.
And for the first time in eleven years, Margaret ate breakfast with someone sitting across from her.
The little girl’s name was Emily.
She started coming over every morning.
Sometimes Margaret made pancakes.
Sometimes Emily helped her bake apple pie.
And sometimes they simply sat by the window while Margaret told stories about Thomas.
Emily loved those stories.
She especially loved the one about how Thomas had proposed.
“He took me to a fancy restaurant,” Margaret told her.
“Did he get down on one knee?”
Margaret laughed.
“No. He dropped the ring.”
Emily burst out laughing.
“Grandma Margaret!”
“I’m not your grandma.”
Emily shrugged.
“You kind of are.”
Margaret didn’t correct her.
Months passed.
Emily’s mother began working longer hours.
Margaret started helping with homework.
She taught Emily how to sew a button, how to make biscuits from scratch, and how to write a proper thank-you note.
