Two days later, the hospital called. I was listed as his emergency contact—the only one.
When I arrived, he was pale and exhausted, embarrassed by the fuss. But when he saw me, his face brightened.
I had. I made them myself. Relief washed over him, a quiet comfort only someone who had been hungry before could understand.
“Promise me you’ll keep it going,” he murmured. “Just until I’m back.”
I promised. For weeks, I rushed home after work to prepare sandwiches and deliver them to the children. At first, they were cautious, unsure of a new face. But when they saw the familiar sandwiches, their shoulders relaxed, their smiles returned.
Eventually, coworkers began to notice my rush to leave the office on Friday afternoons. One by one, they joined in. Fridays becameContinue reading…
