Our routine continued for years.
I visited after work, usually carrying a bag of groceries or a container of something I had cooked. Sometimes we talked for an hour. Other times, Dorothy complained about her knees while I wiped down the kitchen counters.
Then, a month ago, everything changed.
I had stopped by on a Tuesday evening with bread, fruit, and the tea she liked. Dorothy opened the door only halfway.
That alone surprised me. She usually invited me inside before I had both feet on the porch.
« I brought your groceries, » I said, lifting the bag slightly.
She glanced over her shoulder before looking back at me.
« You didn’t have to do that. »
« I always do. »
Dorothy hesitated.
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