After my husband’s death, I found an old sign for the café we once dreamed of opening. It felt like the perfect time to finally make that dream come true. But I never imagined that my daughter would stand in the way, challenging me in unexpected ways.
It had already been four months since my beloved Jim passed away, and only now did I find the strength to gather his things and move them to the attic. The house had been so quiet without him, and every corner seemed to whisper memories of our life together.
His favorite chair by the window still faced the garden he loved so much. Sometimes, I caught myself glancing at it, expecting to see him there, quietly reading the paper or watching the birds.
But it was all an illusion, one that brought me comfort and pain. It felt like he had just stepped out to the store for his favorite milk or was tending to the roses he planted last spring.
But I knew that wasn’t true. Jim was gone, and no amount of pretending could bring him back. Casey had been after me for weeks to pack away his things.
“Mom, it’s time,” she’d say. “You’re just making it harder on yourself.”
She didn’t grieve like I did. She threw herself into work, always busy, always moving. It was her way of coping, I suppose. She had her daughter, Ashley, to think about.
Maybe Casey didn’t have the luxury of slowing down, but I needed time. I had lost the love of my life, my partner of 32 years, and I wasn’t sure who I was without him anymore.
Finally, I knew it was time to let go of some things that kept me clinging to the past. I packed Jim’s clothes, tools, and little knick-knacks into boxes and slowly carried them to the attic.
It was exhausting, both physically and emotionally. When I set down the last box, something in the corner caught my eye. There, tucked behind some old furniture, was a sign. I squeezed past the clutter to get a better look, and my heart ached as I saw it.
“Mia’s Mornings,” it read in Jim’s careful handwriting. Tears stung my eyes as I remembered the day he made it for me. Years ago, we had talked about opening a café. We even found a spot for it, but life had other plans. I got pregnant and put the dream on hold.
Now, standing there with that sign in my hands, all those memories came rushing back. Jim had always believed in me, even when I couldn’t follow through on my dreams.
That evening, Casey and my granddaughter Ashley came to visit. I spent time playing with Ashley, trying to focus on her laughter. Casey walked around the house, her eyes scanning the space.
“I’m glad you finally put away Dad’s things,” she said, standing in the doorway. “Now there’s more room. It feels better in here.”
I looked up at her, a little tired. “It wasn’t easy,” I said quietly.
“Mom, it’s been four months,” Casey said. “You need to move on.”
I nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re right. It’s just… I found something today. The sign Dad made for my café. I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time to open it.”
Casey blinked, clearly surprised. “And how would you do that?” she asked. “Where’s the money going to come from?”
“I was thinking about using the money your dad left behind,” I said, feeling a little hopeful.
Casey frowned. “We talked about this. That money’s for Ashley’s education. I’ve already signed her up for private school.”
I lowered my head. “I know, I know. It was just an idea,” I said, unsure of why I was apologizing.
“Mom, you’re too old to start a business now,” Casey added, her voice firm.
I smiled at her. “Sweetheart, 50 isn’t that old.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but running a café takes a lot of energy. You have to think about that.”
After they left, I sat alone, staring at the sign. Tears filled my eyes. Once again, I had to set aside my dream.
A few days had passed since I found the sign, and I had tried to push it out of my mind. Life had a way of distracting me. But one afternoon, on my way back from the market, something stopped me in my tracks.
There it was, the same building Jim and I had once dreamed about for our café, and now, a “For Rent” sign hung in the window. My heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It felt like a sign from Jim, a push to finally go after my dream.
I quickly scribbled down the realtor’s number, my hands shaking with excitement. I knew I had to talk to Casey. I hurried to her office, my mind racing. When I arrived, Casey looked up, surprised to see me.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Casey asked, clearly surprised to see me in her office.
“I need to talk to you. It’s important,” I said. My voice was steady, but my heart was racing.
