I Called Out the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch a Chill!” She Turned, Waved Her Shovel in Greeting: “Doing This for You Lazybones.” The Next Day, Mum Was Gone… I Still Can’t Walk Past Our Garden Without My Heart Clenching. Every Time I See That Path, It Feels Like Someone Is Gripping My Heart. I Took That Photo on the Second of January, Just as I Was Walking By and Noticed Mum’s Tracks in the Snow—Now It’s All I Have Left from Those Days…

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 7 min

I remember shouting out the window, Mum, what are you doing out there so early? Youll catch your death! She turned around, gave me a little wave with the shovel, and called back, Im just making things easier for you lazybones! The next day, she was gone.

Even now, I cant walk past our old garden without feeling a lump in my throat. Every time I see that path, its like someones got their hand around my heart and is giving it a good squeeze. It was me who took that photo on the 2nd of January I was just wandering by, spotted the footprints in the fresh snow, and stopped in my tracks. Snapped the picture for no reason, really. But now its all I have left from those days.

We always spent New Years together, the whole family. Mum was up and about first thing in the morning on the 31st. I was woken up by the smell of frying and her singing from the kitchen.

Come on, love, get up! I could use a hand with the salads! If you dont help me, your fatherll eat all the ingredients before we get the chance! I came downstairs, still in my pyjamas, hair all over the place. She was there by the cooker in her favourite apron, the one with peaches on itthe apron Id given her when I was still at school. She flashed me a big, warm smile, her cheeks glowing from the heat of the oven.

Oh, Mum, at least let me have a cup of tea first, I groaned.

Tea later, potato salad now! she laughed, tossing a bowl of roasted veg at me. Chop it up nice and small, just how I like itnot like last time, rugby-ball-sized chunks everywhere!

As we chopped, we nattered on about everything and anything. She told stories about New Years from her childhoodno fancy salads back then, just a bit of herring under a fur coat and the odd tangerine my granddad would somehow sneak home from work.

Then Dad came in, lugging a tree that was bigger than him. Look, girls! What do you think of this beauty? he beamed from the doorway.

Blimey, Dad, did you empty all of Sherwood Forest? I gasped.

Mum stepped out to have a look and just shook her head. Its lovely, but where are we going to put it? Last years was bad enough.

But she still helped us decorate. My little sister, Holly, and I strung up the fairy lights while Mum pulled out the old box of baublesthe ones Id known since I was a kid. She picked up a glass angel and whispered, I bought this for your very first Christmas. Remember that?

Yeah, I do, I lied, and nodded, just seeing how happy it made her.

My brother, Jake, turned up in the evening, as noisy as ever, arms full of gifts and bottles.

Mum, I got proper champagne this time! Not that cheap stuff from last year.

Oh darling, just promise you wont get the whole lot tipsy! she laughed and hugged him.

When midnight came, we all trooped out into the back garden. Dad and Jake set off fireworks, Holly screeched in delight, and Mum wrapped her arm around me, cuddling me close.

Look at that, love. Isnt life wonderful? she whispered.

I hugged her back. Ours is the best, Mum.

We passed the champagne bottle around, all giggles, especially when a firework sailed off wildly towards the neighbours shed. Mum, ever so slightly tipsy, was dancing in her wellies to Rockin Around the Christmas Tree, and Dad whisked her off her feet. We laughed ourselves silly.

New Years Day, we all just lounged about. Mum couldnt keep still, thoughthis time it was homemade dumplings and aspic for lunch.

Oh, Mum, give it a rest! Were ready to burst! I moaned.

Nonsense! Its New Year, theres a whole week of feasting left! shed say with a wave of her hand.

On the second, she was up again at dawn. I heard the door slam and peeked outsidethere she was, shovel in hand, tidying up the path in her old padded coat and headscarf. She was careful about it, as alwaysfrom the gate right up to the front step, making a neat, narrow trail. Shed scoop the snow up against the house, the way she liked.

I shouted, Mum, why are you out so early? Youll freeze!

She turned, gave me a cheery wave with the shovel, and called, If I leave it to you lot, youll be wading through snowdrifts until April! Go and put the kettle on instead.

I grinned and went to the kitchen. Half an hour later she was back, cheeks red, eyes shining.

All done, nice and tidy, she said, sitting down for a cuppa. Looks good, doesnt it?

Perfect, Mum. Thank you.

That was the last time I heard her sounding so lively.

On the morning of the third, she woke up and said quietly, Girls, Ive got a funny pain in my chest. Not too bad, just something uncomfortable.

I went into panic mode straight away. Mum, lets get an ambulance, please?

Oh love, dont fuss. Ive just overdone it a bit, all that cooking and running about. Ill have a lie down, itll pass.

She lay on the sofa, Holly and I sat by her, and Dad dashed off to get some medicine from the chemist. Mum even tried to joke, Dont look at me like that, so dramatic! Ill outlive the lot of you.

But then, suddenly, she went pale, clutching her chest.

Oh I feel awful really awful

We called for help. I held her hand, whispering, Stay with me, Mum, the ambulance is nearly here, please hold on She looked at me and whispered, barely above a breath, Darling I love you all so much I dont want to say goodbye.

The paramedics came quickly, but there was nothing they could do. It was a massive heart attack. It happened so fast.

I crumpled on the hallway floor, sobbing. It felt unrealyesterday she was dancing under the fireworks, and today

Barely able to stand, I trudged outside. Snow was falling gently. And there they wereher footprints, small and perfect, leading from the gate to the door and back again. The same footprints she always left behind.

I stood there staring for ages, asking God, How can it be? How can someone be here one day, walking the earth, and then be gone the next? The footprints are still here, but Mums not?

I started thinking maybe that really was the last thing she wanted to do on the 2nd of Januaryleave us a clean path. So wed always have a way to walk, even if she wasnt with us.

I wouldnt let anyone sweep away those footprints. Told Dad and the others to leave them, let the snow cover them when it was ready.

That was her last bit of care for us. Looking after her family, even when she was gone.

A week later, a big snow fell and covered everything.

I still have that photo of her footprints. Every year, on the third of January, I take it out and look at it, then glance at the empty path outside the house. It hurts, terribly, to know that somewhere beneath that snow, she left her last set of footprintsthose same footprints I still follow, every single day.

The Fool Everyone Always Thought Anna Was Daft. She’d Been Married Fifteen Years, Had Two Kids — Alice, Fourteen, and Tommy, Seven. Her Husband Cheated on Her from the Second Day of Their Marriage, and Never Bothered to Hide It. Friends Tried to Warn Her, But Anna Always Smiled Silently. Anna Worked as an Accountant at a Toy Factory, With a Tiny Paycheck and Mountains of Work, Even on Weekends. Her Husband Made Good Money, But No Matter What, There Was Never Enough for Groceries, and at Best, Dinner Was Borscht and Meatballs with Pasta. People Always Gossiped About Val With His New Girl. He’d Often Come Home Drunk. “Oh, Anna’s a fool, why does she put up with him?” On Their Son Tommy’s Tenth Birthday, Her Husband Declared He Wanted a Divorce — He’d Fallen in Love and Wasn’t Happy at Home. “Don’t Be Upset, Anna, But I’m Filing for Divorce. You’re so Cold and Not Even a Good Housekeeper,” He Said. “Alright, I Agree,” Anna Replied Calmly, Smiling Oddly, Which Rattled Val. The Next Day, Val Came Home with His New Flame, But Found the Locks Changed and a Mountain of Surprises Awaiting Him. No Key Under the Mat, Just a Burly Man Answering the Door. “Have You Got Any Papers to Prove You Live Here?” Confused, Val Searched for His Passport — Only to Discover He’d Been Removed from the Flat’s Deeds Two Years Prior. Anna and the Kids Had Moved On — His Daughter Studying Abroad, His Son in a Different School, and Anna Gone from the Factory. Crushed, Val Prepared for the Divorce Hearing, Sure He’d Expose Anna as a Swindler. But in Court, He Was Reminded: Two Years Back, Buzzing from a New Affair, He’d Signed Power of Attorney Over to Anna for Household Matters. He’d Lost It All By His Own Hand. His Mistress Eliza Disappeared After Hearing He’d Lost the Flat. Determined to Get Revenge, Val Planned to Refuse Child Support — Only to Receive a Court Summons Contesting His Paternity. DNA Tests Proved Both Children Weren’t His. Anna Had Seen Him Cheat on Their Wedding Day, and Vowed Subtle Revenge — Affair for Affair, Saving Every Penny He Gave Her, Living Frugally so She Could Support the Children Elsewhere, Until She Was Ready to Strike. He Took Losing the Flat Better Than Finding Out Both Kids Weren’t His. Beware the Women You’ve Wronged — In Anger, They Can Do Anything.

The Fairy Godmother Everyone could already tell by Year 7 that Lisa Browning was destined to become a brilliant doctor. It all started when the neighbour’s boy fell off the swings and bloodied his knee and head terribly. The sight would have made most people faint, but twelve-year-old Lisa kept her cool. “Yasmin, fetch some water, bandages and antiseptic!” she commanded her best friend, who lived in the flat opposite the playground. Without a word, Yasmin dashed home. By the time the frightened auntie—little Jamie’s mum, Mrs Turner, had found out and rushed over, Lisa had calmly and efficiently cleaned, treated, and dressed the wounds with the professionalism of someone far beyond her years. When Mrs Turner learned who had given her son first aid, she was astonished. Thanking Lisa warmly, she declared: “You’re going to be a doctor. And not just any doctor—an outstanding one. Well done, you didn’t panic! Some real doctors could learn from you, my dear.” On camping trips, Lisa was simply indispensable. No one wanted to get hurt, of course, but with Lisa Browning there, any scrapes seemed less frightening. Then came medical school, internships, hospital foundation years, and a steady stream of training courses. Once, in her role as a junior doctor, Lisa had to fill in for the Head of Functional Diagnostics. It was safe to say that Dr Elizabeth Alexandra, now Mrs Thompson, was both respected and valued by her colleagues. The team was fantastic—apart from the ageing deputy head, Dr Bernard Stephens, notorious for his grumpiness and temper, and something of an energy vampire to boot. He was in his element when there was trouble to be had. Lisa tried not to rise to his provocations, though only she knew how much effort that took! The only consolation for Dr Thompson was that their paths didn’t often cross—just once a week at the admissions panel when they discussed diagnoses for new patients. Even then, those meetings were anything but pleasant. Dr Stephens would frequently clash with Elizabeth, sometimes making sly, biting comments. He seemed to sense that Dr Thompson tried to ignore his barbs, and it only encouraged him. “Impossible man,” she complained to her husband Val after another trying day. “Honestly, I’ve tried to be patient, but it’s as if Stephens deliberately goads me.” “I’m sure you’ll come out on top,” Val grinned. “You’re the best diplomat I know.” “Absolutely, Mum,” agreed their thirteen-year-old, Max. “If you get bored being a doctor, you should be a diplomat. They earn loads more as well.” “I’ll give it some thought,” she laughed. Lisa was always diplomatic—but at the end of the day, only human. And patience, unfortunately, does have its limits. She sensed that sooner or later, she might just snap, and if she did, it would be for a good reason. The very next day at the usual doctors’ meeting everything was routine—until it was Lisa’s turn to present the notes of a woman in her sixties on the examination couch across from them. Normally, after the report, the patient would leave if she was able, and the head of department, the attending physician, and the deputy would discuss the case in private. This time, however, things got out of hand. “Just tell me one thing,” the older lady asked, her voice trembling. “Is it very serious? Will I recover? I have a granddaughter to raise on my own.” There was so much hope in her anxious eyes, it almost brought tears. Lisa had just begun to speak words of comfort when Dr Stephens bulldozed in. “With a diagnosis like yours?! Frankly, dear lady, your condition is so advanced, no sensible doctor would offer any guarantees! What were you thinking all this time?” The patient froze, lips trembling, but Dr Stephens pressed on: “I know your type! You ignore everything, self-medicate, and only come crawling to a doctor when it’s nearly too late! We’re not miracle workers…” The poor woman burst into tears and left the room. Later, Elizabeth berated herself for not reigning Stephens in, but in truth, she had been stunned. To yell at an elderly patient in such distress was simply unthinkable. The head of department shook her head in disapproval, too. Even if, deep down, the doctors acknowledged Stephens wasn’t technically wrong, there was no excuse for not speaking more kindly—at least with respect for the patient’s age. And that was when Lisa’s patience broke. Enough was enough. “Dr Stephens, with all due respect, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” “What’s the problem?” Stephens shrugged. “We’re not magicians. It’s about time patients knew that. Everything is easier to treat in the early stages, and you know that as well as I do.” Seeing Stephens’ self-satisfied smirk, Lisa grimaced in disgust. The head of department, knowing exactly what he was so pleased about, braced as Lisa took up the challenge. “Yes, Dr Stephens, you’re certainly right that early intervention is better. In most cases, it’s the only real chance! But do you realise how hard I worked to persuade that woman to get treatment? She believed me when I said things could be alright. And now—you’ve shattered all of that in a single moment. Well done.” Lisa threw up her hands in frustration. Stephens, recovering from her outburst, tried to assert his authority with the head of department, but soon realised it was no use. He had long ago discovered Mrs Thompson was no pushover—she knew her worth, and it was high. He blustered some more, but Lisa was barely listening. She watched, as if through a veil, as the department head left the office. With only Stephens for company, Elizabeth felt suffocated. Lisa gazed blankly at a corner, silent. How could she be expected to get on with her work after this? She felt like crying, but thought, “No way am I giving him that satisfaction.” She moved to the window, and heard the door slam. Lisa turned to see she was alone. She sat down at her desk and reached for her files. Duty still called. “Dr Thompson?” came a hesitant voice. She barely registered who it was, so unlike Stephens’ usual tone of command. The deputy held a bottle of valerian drops, his face creased in confusion. Strangely, Lisa felt no triumph—only pity. Rumour had it that Stephens was a lonely man. “Dr Thompson, here,” he muttered, handing her the vial. “And… forgive me. Maybe you’re right….” “And you, Dr Stephens,” she replied, choosing kindness, “have your own point. But our job is to heal people—and to give them at least a glimmer of hope. Sometimes, that hope creates miracles. I’m sure you know that as well as I do.” “Yes, yes, of course,” Stephens nodded absently. Such a transformation was something remarkable, but Lisa didn’t dwell on it. Better to strike while the iron was hot. “Dr Stephens,” she said, taking a steadying breath, “please remember: I’ll never allow anyone—no matter their position—to raise their voice or question my qualifications in front of a patient, whether they’re a porter or the Health Secretary himself.” “Absolutely, Dr Thompson. Understood.” “Let’s hope so,” thought Lisa, looking at the time. There was still so much to do. An hour later, she visited the patient—Veronica Grace, who had a bouquet of tulips on her bedside table. Seeing Lisa, the older woman smiled. “You’ll never guess who just visited me,” she said. “Your boss! Brought me flowers and apologised. Said, ‘We’ll do everything we possibly can to help you recover.’” “That’s wonderful,” Lisa replied, squeezing Veronica’s hand. “We really will do everything. You’re as good as new—practically a young bride-to-be!” “You joker!” laughed the patient. A month on, Veronica was on the mend. On the day she was discharged, Dr Stephens brought her a box of posh chocolates. “For your granddaughter,” he said, a little awkwardly. “And these are for you,” holding out a bouquet of roses. “Such beautiful flowers! Thank you so much. I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers. And my thanks to all of you—doctors, really, you’ve given an old lady her life back.” History was made: “Did Stephens just do that?” thought everyone present, marvelling. The widely disliked deputy, famous for never speaking a kind word, had done the unthinkable. Relations between Lisa and Bernard improved, if not to friendship, then to very cordial understanding. They often shared a coffee after meetings, or sometimes ran into each other in the hospital café. “There’s no such thing as happiness,” Stephens confided once. “Maybe that’s why I’m so cantankerous. Life’s gone by, and I haven’t really lived it.” “What do you mean?” Lisa exclaimed. “You’re senior deputy, that’s no small achievement.” “I suppose so,” he conceded. “But I wish I was happy. I was, once. But it slipped away.” So, Lisa realised, the man had simply been defeated by loneliness. She found herself growing fond of him. Lisa’s new friendship did not go unnoticed by the staff, though nobody stooped to idle gossip—Dr Thompson was above that, and Stephens was hardly a ladies’ man. “What’s your secret?” nurse Abby asked in the middle of a girls’ tea party. “He’s different now—actually smiles. Not often, but it’s something!” Every Friday, all the female staff, from doctors to cleaners, held a tea party in the hospital kitchen, bringing their best cakes and jam. “Honestly, girls, there’s no secret,” Lisa said. “It’s simple really.” “As if!” scoffed Valerie the cloakroom lady. “It’s true! Everything depends on self-confidence and dignity. Anyone—be they doctor or cleaner—deserves both.” “I wish I could,” sighed young orderlie Sarah. “He scares me!” “You shouldn’t think like that,” Lisa replied. “Everyone has the right to self-respect. It’s all about confidence.” Psychiatrist Gillian nodded. “Especially with energy vampires. If they sense confidence, they steer clear—there’s nothing to feed off.” “Maybe Stephens is just an unhappy man,” mused Vera the cook. Everyone agreed—except Lisa, who knew it for a fact. “Did I miss much, girls?” panted Katie the linen lady, bustling in. “Not really—we’re just gossiping about old Bernie,” Gillian grinned. “Oh, then you’re all up to date!” Katie declared. “About what?” everyone clamoured. “Stephens is getting married!” “No way!” “Now that’s a shock!” “More likely the world’s about to freeze over than that!” Hospital staff were agog. “Lisa, don’t tell me you didn’t know,” said the housekeeper slyly. “No, I had no idea!” Lisa replied, surprised. “We talked about a lot, but not hearts and flowers.” “People like him would never let on!” pronounced psychologist Tamara sagely. “Too right,” Lisa thought. “I wonder who the lucky lady is…” “So who is he marrying?” Sarah piped up. “Not sure—apparently it’s a patient,” Katie said as she poured her tea. “Seriously?” Vera exclaimed, while Lisa smiled—she had an inkling. “Well, girls, I think this news deserves something stronger than tea,” Lisa said. “A bottle or two of wine, perhaps?” Cheers! For all they knew, becoming a newlywed might just soften Stephens up a bit. The next day at coffee, Stephens looked the picture of happiness. Lisa didn’t let on that she’d heard—it was obvious he wanted to announce it himself. “You’re looking well, Bernard,” she smiled. “You noticed,” he grinned. “And I’m in a fantastic mood—I’m getting married, Lisa!” “Really?” Lisa feigned surprise. “And who’s the lucky lady?” “Oh, she’s marvellous. The very best in the world for me.” “So—will you tell me who?” “It’s Veronica. You know, the lady you gave me a proper talking-to about. I really liked her, so I decided to act. Got her details from her records, went to see her—ostensibly as follow-up care.” “Well, well, a secret schemer after all,” Lisa laughed. “She’s a wonderful choice.” “I think so, too. And I want you at our wedding. You and your family. Because it’s thanks to you that I found my soulmate. Lisa, you really should have been a diplomat!” “Oh, don’t be silly! Fate would have brought you together regardless.” The wedding was lovely. The groom looked dashing, and the bride radiant—transformed from the anxious patient desperate for her granddaughter’s sake into a stylish, confident woman ten years younger. Veronica’s bob haircut and dark chestnut hair suited her perfectly, and she never tired of thanking Lisa…

The Recipe for Happiness… Everyone in the block eagerly watched as the new tenants moved into the second-floor flat—a family led by the factory workshop manager, whose role was quite prestigious in their quaint English market town. “Why would they choose to live in this old Victorian place?” wondered pensioner Mrs. Nora Andrews aloud to her friends. “Surely with his connections, they could’ve bagged themselves a flat in those new builds.” “Don’t be so quick to judge, Mum,” her daughter Anna—thirty, still single and all bold lipstick—chimed in. “Who needs a new build when we have these grand Victorian ceilings, big separate rooms, a generous hallway, and the balcony’s as good as an extra room! Besides, they got their phone line connected straight away. In our block of nine, only three flats even have one.” “You only care because you want to chat on the phone all day,” her mum scolded. “The neighbours are sick of it. Don’t go badgering those people—they’re important and busy.” “Oh, they’re not so serious,” Anna replied, rolling her eyes. “They’re young—a nine-year-old daughter, Natasha. Practically my age, maybe five years older.” The new neighbours turned out to be charming and polite: Lydia worked at the local school library, while John had a decade’s experience at the button factory. Anna loved to keep everyone apprised of their business when she joined her mother and her friends in the courtyard. “And how do you know all this?” the women quizzed. “Well, they let me in to use the phone! Not like some people who’d rather I didn’t call my friends for half an hour about nothing,” Anna shot back, meaningfully. Anna soon became a regular visitor to the newcomers—sometimes turning up in new dresses, other days in cosy dressing gowns—all in pursuit of friendship with Lydia and John. One afternoon, she noticed John decisively closing the lounge door when she arrived to use the phone—a gesture that became a habit. After her calls, Anna would peek into the kitchen to thank Lydia, who would reply only with a polite nod and ask her to close the front door. “Can’t—I’m elbow-deep in flour,” Lydia would say, displaying her hands. “Our lock’s French; it snaps shut itself.” “Oh, are you baking again—more pastries? I wish I could do that,” Anna would sigh. “Yes, cheese danishes for breakfast. No time to bake in the morning, so I do it now…” Lydia smiled, turning back to her dough. Anna would grimace and leave, frustrated she hadn’t been invited to linger. One evening, John mentioned, “Lydia, I know you don’t want to seem rude, but she monopolises our phone every evening—my mates can’t get through. This can’t go on.” Lydia agreed, “She comes in as if our home’s a waiting room!” Soon Anna, dolled up once again, plonked herself on their hallway stool for another long call to a friend. “Anna, will you be long? We’re waiting for a call,” Lydia asked after ten minutes. Anna nodded, hung up, and produced a chocolate bar: “Brought a treat—let’s have tea, get to know each other.” She headed to the kitchen, setting the chocolate down invitingly. “No, sorry—please, put that away. Natasha has an allergy. Chocolate is a strict no-go here. I’m afraid tea together won’t work. Don’t be offended, but in our family, chocolate is off the table.” “What? Off the table? I just wanted to say thanks…” Anna blushed in confusion. “No need for thanks, but please, only use the phone for emergencies—doctor, ambulance, fire crew—that’s different. Even in the middle of the night, we understand. But for anything else, please…” Lydia managed, “John needs business calls, and Natasha’s doing her homework. We try to keep things quiet.” Anna retrieved the chocolate and left, fuming—to her, Lydia was just jealous of her youth and looks. “She’s just envious I’m younger and prettier,” Anna told her mother. “I tried to be nice—brought my own chocolate—and she didn’t even offer me a cuppa!” “Silly girl,” Nora chided her, “Stop butting into other families. They don’t want you forever using their phone. Make friends elsewhere—better yet, find your own fella and your own phone!” Anna’s final push for friendship was to ask Lydia for her famous cheese danish recipe. “Could you write it down for me? I’d really like to learn,” Anna pleaded. “Why not ask your mum? Our mums know everything!” Lydia replied, surprised. “Anyway, I bake by instinct—never measured a thing. Sorry, I’m in a hurry!” Anna flushed and trudged back. She knew full well her mum had a battered old recipe notebook stuffed with secrets, most of them devoted to baking. But Anna didn’t want to bake herself, and her mum had stopped, struggling with her weight. But Anna retrieved the book, leafed through, and found what she needed—her mother was astonished. “You’re going to bake?” “Well, why not?” Anna replied, closing the book around the dog-eared page. “Is this about that boy, Simon?” her mother asked. “I thought you’d finished with him, like all the others.” “Not at all! He’ll be back.” Anna snapped. “Suit yourself, but you’d better get a move on if you want to settle down.” A few days later, the unmistakable aroma of baking filled the flat. “Is it possible? Baking—here!” her mother exclaimed. “You must be in love!” “Shh—not so loud!” Anna laughed. “Ready for a taste test? They’re cheese danishes—classic ones.” The kettle boiled, cups were out, and on a plate glowed golden danishes, like tiny suns. “You’ve still got it!” her mother exclaimed. “Not bad at all.” “Don’t just humour me—try one,” Anna insisted. “Tastes just right!” her mother confirmed. Anna remembered her father’s words: “Edible—that’s the highest praise.” “I’ll invite Simon over for tea. What do you think, will he like them?” Anna grinned. “He’ll love them! I won your dad’s heart with these very danishes,” her mother replied. As Simon became a regular for tea and laughter echoed from the kitchen, Anna’s mother grew used to her daughter spending more time at the stove—with Simon, no less. The news they planned to marry brought tears to Nora’s eyes. Anna slimmed down in anticipation of her wedding, Simon teasing, “Don’t forget to bake danishes for the wedding feast!” The big day was celebrated simply, with Anna, her mother, and her aunt preparing treats for just twenty family guests. The couple set up home in a grand room of their Victorian flat, and with time, every neighbour enjoyed the luxury of their own telephone. Anna made quick calls now—no more lingering. “Oh, Rita, can’t chat—my dough has risen and Simon will be home soon. Talk later!” She hurried to the kitchen to check on her pillow-soft dough—Anna was expecting a baby, on the cusp of maternity leave, but still couldn’t resist baking up treats for her husband, and herself. Homemade cheese danishes—such delicious happiness! And Simon simply adored her for it, for her baking, her kindness, and her warmth.