I felt my stomach drop. “Where’s Evelyn?”
“She’s scared,” he said softly. “Terrified she’ll cook something that could hurt me.”
For three long weeks, the Whitmore home was quiet. Evelyn sat in her chair staring out the window. Henry tried to maintain normalcy, but worry etched his every move.
Stepping In
I couldn’t stand seeing them like that. One Friday night, I pulled out every cooking skill I had learned from years of online tutorials. I made lemon-roasted chicken, creamy mashed potatoes with garlic butter, a fresh salad with homemade vinaigrette, and chocolate pie for dessert. I packed it all up and walked across the yard.
Evelyn opened the door, hands flying to her mouth.
“Honey… is this for us?”
“Someone very wise once told me that cooking for people is how you show love,” I said softly. “I figured it was time I returned the favor.”
We sat together at their round kitchen table, eating, laughing, and sharing stories. For the first time in weeks, Evelyn and Henry looked like themselves again. They shared tales of their first date, mishaps with flat tires, and Emily’s favorite foods.
Healing Together
