The care home was small but warm — filled with laughter, music, and gentle company. There were no slammed doors or frightened whispers. I could breathe again.
“Margaret?”
It was George, my childhood friend. He smiled, his hair white like mine but his eyes bright as ever. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
I laughed softly. “Maybe fate still owes us a story.”
For the first time in years, I felt joy unburdened by fear.
