“I have Parkinson’s, daughter,” she said softly. “Some days, eating becomes a battle.”
Valeria’s chest tightened — not from pity, but from memory. Her grandmother had trembled the same way before she died. She remembered those hands struggling with a cup, the quiet humiliation of needing help for something so basic.
“Wait a moment,” Valeria said gently. “I’ll bring something easier.”
Four minutes later she returned with hot soup.
While other customers complained about delays, Valeria pulled up a chair and sat beside her.
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