She went outside and walked around to help Margaret, who was moving carefully, leaning on her cane. As they approached the front steps, the front door opened and David, Lisa’s husband, appeared with a warm smile.
“Welcome home, Margaret,” he said.
Margaret froze. “I don’t understand.”
Lisa gently guides her forward. “David and I bought this house three months ago. We’ve been renovating it ever since.”
Inside, sunlight flooded the living room. Margaret let out a small sigh of admiration. The furniture seemed familiar, because it was. Her favorite armchair was by the window. Her handmade blankets covered the sofa. Her books lined the shelves. Family photos framed the brick fireplace.
“This… this cannot be real,” Margaret murmured.
Lisa led her through a carefully furnished kitchen, past a dining room where there was the oak table that Margaret was very fond of, and then towards a door at the back.
“This is your space,” Lisa said, opening the door.
The room was painted light blue, Margaret’s favorite color. Her bed was impeccably made. Her grandmother’s old dresser leaned against the wall. The adjoining bathroom had grab bars, a walk-in shower with a seat, and wide doors: everything the doctor had recommended.
Tears welled up in Margaret’s eyes before she could even speak.
