One morning, Cynthia showed up. She looked smaller, shaken.
“I need help,” she said. “Rhett’s gone.
I have nothing.”
“No money,” I told her. “But you can stay. Work.
Build something. Become someone Grace would’ve been proud of.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know how.”
“That’s okay,” I said.
“Neither did I. Grace taught me.”
She blinked back tears and nodded. As I turned to head inside, I heard the door click closed behind her.
Not slammed.
Not shut in anger or pride.
Just gently closed.
Like someone finally stepping in.
