Arnold’s 93rd birthday wish was simple but heartfelt: to hear the laughter of his children echo through his home one last time. The dining table was carefully set, with the finest linens, a golden turkey, and flickering candles casting gentle shadows. Yet, as time passed, the only sound in the house was silence. Then, a knock at the door—but it wasn’t who Arnold had been waiting for.
Arnold’s cottage at the end of Maple Street had seen better days, much like its 92-year-old owner. Time had taken its toll, leaving cracks in the walls and in Arnold’s heart. He sat in his favorite armchair, its leather worn and faded, with Joe, his orange tabby, purring softly in his lap. Though his hands were no longer steady, they moved automatically through Joe’s fur, finding comfort in the familiar rhythm of their quiet companionship.
The afternoon sun streamed through dusty windows, illuminating photographs on the mantle. Each picture told a story of joy and love: Bobby with his mischievous grin, Jenny clutching her doll, Michael holding his first trophy, Sarah in her graduation gown, and Tommy on his wedding day, so much like a younger Arnold.
Continue reading on next page…