It was seven in the evening when an elderly woman stepped toward the grand entrance of the finest restaurant in London.
She wore a worn grey coat with a missing button, a simple woolen hat, and wellington boots. She looked as though she had wandered in by mistake. Inside, the air was thick with elegancegentlemen in tailcoats, ladies in evening gowns, crystal glasses catching the candlelight, the rich scent of fine cuisine drifting through the room.
The moment she crossed the threshold, hushed whispers rippled through the diners. Some rolled their eyes, others scoffed.
“Whats a homeless woman doing here?”
A waitress approached with a tight smile, eyeing the woman from head to toe. “Im sorry, but were fully booked,” she said, though several tables stood empty.
The woman hesitated, ready to turn and leave, when another waitera young man with kind eyesstepped forward.
“Please, come in,” he said, pulling out a chair. “Theres always room for a guest.”
The old woman hesitated but nodded gratefully. She removed her coat, hanging it carefully over the chair before sitting down. Then, something unexpected happened.
The waiter handed her the menu. A moment later, she spoke softly.
“Id like the duck breast with pomegranate sauce, the wild mushroom velouté and a glass of your finest claret.”
The waiter raised his brows slightly. “Forgive me, madam, but our prices are rather steep.”
She gave a faint smile. “I know. Ive saved this money for yearsalways for the children, the grandchildren. Scrimping, denying myself. But theyve long forgotten me. They dont return calls. Some even asked me not to visit unannounced.”
She trailed off, staring at the tablecloth. Then she continued.
“Recently, the doctors told me I have cancer. Advanced. A week, perhaps a month. I thought if this is the end, I deserve to feel like a person for once. Not a burden. A guest. Just a woman who can dine like they do in the pictures.”
The young man stood silent, his eyes glistening. He gave a quiet nod.
“Then this will be the finest meal of your life. I promise.”
He left, and when he returned, his tray held not just her order but a dessert”compliments of the chef”and a glass of the most expensive wine in the house.
All evening, she ate slowly, savouring every bite. She listened to the live piano. The other diners had stared at first, bemused, but soon paid her no mind at all.
