Anne gestured for Emily to sit at the small wooden table, pulling out a chair for herself. She moved with the practiced ease of someone who had spent countless days and nights in this very kitchen, preparing meals and sharing stories. As she ladled the steaming pea soup into bowls, Emily felt a pang of longing. This simple act of kindness, of sharing a meal, was something she had rarely experienced in her young life.
“I hope you like pea soup,” Anne said, setting a bowl in front of Emily. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll warm you up.”
