“But you don’t have any bread,” she said.
[Brow furrowed in genuine concern]
“I do.”
(I didn’t)
[Reassuring smile]
“But is it the crusty type?”
[Clutching a tissue tightly]
“Of course, Grandma. Crusty. Just how you like it.”
[My hand on top of hers]
“That’s good,” she said.
[A flicker of relief]
I kissed her cheek, damp with tears.
We both knew this would be the last time.
I walked away.
My heart breaking over unbroken bread.
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