Dennis gave me a soft smile. “She believed helping you was her second chance — a way to love again.”
The weight of it hit me hard!
Charlotte hadn’t been just a kind old woman who fed a lonely kid.
She had been grieving.
She found me during her lowest moment and chose to show love instead of closing up.
I visited her old house that weekend. The key turned like butter in the lock. I stepped inside and smelled lemon oil and cedar.
The living room had soft floral curtains, a worn recliner, and a full bookshelf.
In the corner sat a small table with two mismatched chairs.
One of them was the one I used to sit in as a child.
The kitchen was still old-fashioned — tile counters, a chipped sink, and a stovetop with a tea kettle that made my throat tighten instantly.
And on the counter, beneath a note from the property manager, was a box labeled “For Her.” I opened it slowly.
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