he could only eat half a muffin. After he was gone, I kept going. It was the only spot that still felt like he might walk in and sit across from me, smiling the way he used to.
Today, as usual, I opened the door to Marigold’s. The bell jingled, and the smell of burnt coffee and cinnamon toast greeted me like an old friend. For a moment, I was 35 again—stepping continue reading …
