Growing up, I heard the story of how my grandparents, Elda and Varn, first crossed paths more times than I could count.
Grandma was a waitress back then, working the early shift at a small roadside diner. She moved fast, balancing plates and refilling coffee cups like it was second nature.
Grandpa sat alone in a corner booth, quietly reading a paperback. When Grandma leaned in to refill his mug, her elbow clipped the coffee pot.
Hot coffee spilled straight onto his lap.
She froze in horror.
“I’m so sorry,” she rushed out. “I’ll pay for the cleaning. I didn’t mean—”
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