I STOOD IN THE GROCERY LINE, HOLDING MY THREE-YEAR-OLD ON MY HIP, SILENTLY HOPING HE WOULDN’T SLIP ANOTHER CANDY PACK INTO THE CART. It had been one of those days — long, exhausting, and with just enough m0ney left to make it to Friday. Ahead of us stood an elderly woman, probably in her late seventies. Her cart held only the essentials — a loaf of bread, some milk, canned soup, a bag of potatoes, and one small apple pie. She moved carefully, watching the total rise on the screen. When the final

My son took my country house without my permission, gave it to his wife’s family, and declared: “From now on, you’re not allowed to go there anymore!” I just nodded. When they moved in, the door latch popped open and everyone’s face went stiff — a moment of 2025. I felt truly satisfied. I didn’t argue in the diner off Route 19—the one with thick white mugs and a flag out front no matter the weather. I folded my napkin, slid my purse strap over my shoulder, and listened while my only son delivere