The driver gathered the reins.
Annie waved.
"Goodbye!"
William raised one hand.
"Write when you arrive!"
"I will!"
I smiled through tears.
"And eat properly!"
She laughed.
"Yes, Rose!"
The wagon began moving.
We watched as it traveled down the mountain road.
Past the orchard.
Across the wooden bridge.
Beyond the bend where the pine trees grew close together.
Eventually it disappeared.
William remained standing beside me.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then he took my hand.
"She's gone."
I nodded.
"To begin something wonderful."
He swallowed.
"Yes."
I leaned against him.
"She'll come home."
He smiled faintly.
"I know."
Then he looked toward me.
"How do you do that?"
I frowned.
"What?"
"Make leaving feel less like losing."
I considered.
Then smiled.
"Because loving someone isn't the same as keeping them."
He looked toward the empty road.
After a while, he nodded.
"You're right."
We walked back toward the cabin.
Inside, the kitchen was quiet.
Annie's apron hung on its hook.
Her favorite wooden spoon rested beside the stove.
A few pages of unfinished writing lay on the table.
I picked them up.
The final paragraph was written in her careful handwriting.
The first home I remember was filled with fear.
The second was filled with secrets.
But the home that taught me what love meant began with a woman asking whether I was hungry.
I stopped reading.
William looked toward me.
"What is it?"
I handed him the pages.
He read.
His eyes filled.
Then he sat down slowly.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally he looked up.
"Rose."
I smiled through tears.
"Yes?"
"Do you remember that Sunday?"
I laughed softly.
"Every detail."
He nodded.
"The chicken."
"Yes."
"The knocking."
"Yes."
He looked toward the old stove.
"Annie."
I took his hand.
"Yes."
He smiled sadly.
"I thought it was the worst day of my life."
I sat beside him.
"I know."
He turned toward me.
"Turns out it gave me my daughter back."
I nodded.
"And gave us a family."
He held my hand.
For a long time, we sat together.
Then he looked toward the stove.
"Are there any dumplings left?"
I burst out laughing.
"William!"
He grinned.
"What?"
"After all that?"
"A man can be sentimental and hungry at the same time."
I laughed so hard tears ran down my cheeks.
He pulled me close.
And for a few beautiful moments, the kitchen filled with the same laughter that had carried us through so many difficult years.
The Sunday Table continued long after Annie left for school.
New volunteers joined.