The old fishing boat rocked gently against the dock as Lucas tied the final knot. At 54, his hands, rough and worn from years of hard work, moved swiftly, even though his joints ached with arthritis. His small house on the village outskirts waited for him, just like it did every night since Maria passed. The silence felt louder now, as if the emptiness inside him echoed through the walls. There was no laughter, no warmth, only the quiet of his own thoughts. “Evening, Lucas!” called Old Tom from his

After I married my childhood sweetheart, I truly believed it was our “happily ever after.” That feeling lasted until he handed me a notebook filled with his mother’s secrets. It all began on a regular morning in my hometown, just as I was grabbing my coffee on Main Street. And there he was—Michael, standing outside the coffee shop we used to go to as teenagers. He looked just the same, maybe a bit taller and with a touch of gray in his hair. I could hardly believe my eyes. “Michael?”

Michael had never imagined Thanksgiving would feel so empty. Every year, he found himself alone, watching others enjoy the holiday with loved ones. His coworkers were buzzing about their Thanksgiving plans—their family feasts, road trips to see relatives, and even a few glamorous getaways. But Michael had no one to celebrate with, no family to visit, no special someone to share the day. It had always been like this, and he’d long since accepted it. When he had something to celebrate, Michael’s solution was often a solo treat. Sometimes it