I was already opening the hall closet, pulling out my old suitcase.
That evening I folded my cardigans carefully and wrapped two small gifts in tissue paper.
A wooden puzzle for Noah.
A book of fairy tales for Lily.
I tucked the jam jars between my sweaters so they wouldn’t break.
I sat on the edge of my bed for a moment and I let myself feel the truth I rarely said aloud.
Since my husband died, I had drifted to the edges of this family.Holidays where I sat quietly in the corner.
Phone calls that grew shorter.
A slow, aching worry that I had become something to be tolerated rather than wanted.
« I won’t be a burden, » I whispered to the empty room. « I’ll help. I’ll make myself useful. »
Maybe that was why the invitation felt like a gift from heaven.
Someone needed me.
Related Posts
