
No One from Her Family Showed up for Our Café Older Regular’s Birthday—But I Tried to Fix It
Every day, I open the café like it’s any other—keys in one hand, apron in the other. The smell of fresh cinnamon buns and dark roast coffee fills the air, and the place is quiet. Just two tables are taken this early, the soft hum of morning in the background. But today wasn’t like any other day. I spotted her immediately. Miss Helen sat at the big round table by the window. That’s the one we usually save for birthdays, group meetings, celebrations. Pink streamers hung from the edges, a