I thought about Thomas, my late husband.

I thought about how he always knew what to say to David when David was stubborn.

Now, I had to find those words myself.

The next morning, the sun was bright but cold, casting sharp light through the bare trees.

I dressed in a warm gray sweater and drove down to the Elm Street Café.

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside.

The air smelled of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon.

Harold was already sitting at a small table by the window, a steaming mug in front of him.

He stood up when he saw me, a gentle smile appearing on his face.

“Good morning, Eleanor,” he said, pulling out a chair for me.

“Good morning, Harold,” I said, sitting down.

A waitress came over, and I ordered a black coffee.

“How are you holding up?” Harold asked, his eyes full of genuine concern.

“I didn’t sleep much,” I admitted. “I keep thinking about David.”

“That is natural,” Harold said. “A mother’s heart never stops working.”

He took a sip of his tea, looking out the window at the quiet street.