Two weeks later, Mom and I drove to visit Margaret together.
This time, I did the driving, and Mom arrived rested, stronger, and following her doctor’s advice.
Margaret sat in a comfortable chair by the window. When she saw me, her face brightened.
“Laura?”
I rushed over and hugged her.
For a moment, I smelled the familiar vanilla perfume I remembered from childhood.
“You used to let me eat pie dough,” I said through tears.
“You used to steal it,” she replied with a laugh.
We spent the afternoon looking through photographs and sharing memories. Margaret remembered my first lost tooth, the yellow sweater she’d knitted for me, and the birthday cake I’d once made using salt instead of sugar.
I was amazed by how much of my childhood she’d kept alive in her heart.
Before we left, I thanked her for everything she’d done for us.
“Your mother worked very hard,” Margaret said. “I just made sure you had somewhere to go after school.”
