Page 52 of Her Unending Horizon

I stepped into them before I even thought about it.

She hugged me tight, all bird bones and steel, then patted my back twice and pulled away.

“Lettie!” she called over my shoulder. “Four-top in the corner by the window for Chloe.”

“A four-top?” I protested automatically. “It’s just me.”

Little Grandma’s eyes gleamed. “I’m betting you invited your twin,” she said. “And what’s more, I thought it might be nice if you and I visited for a bit. It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to really talk.”

A year ago, that suggestion would’ve made my stomach drop. The idea of “really talking” to anyone had felt like someone suggesting I peel off my own skin.

Now… I was surprised to feel something else instead.

My eyes widened. I was actually looking forward to it.

“Okay,” I said, my voice coming out a little softer than I intended. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Lettie appeared as we sat down. She had her ever-present order pad and a tired smile that brightened when she saw me. “Hey, stranger,” she said. “You want breakfast or lunch? We’re straddling both right now, lucky you.”

“Breakfast,” I said immediately. Comfort food. “Definitely breakfast.”

She nodded. “You want me to grab you a menu?”

“I know I want a cinnamon roll,” I said, because there were some things you didn’t need to consult a menu for. “Beyond that, I’m…undecided.”

Her smile widened. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let Mom put something together for you. She’s been in a mood all morning—might as well put that energy to good use.” She jerked her chin toward the coffee pots. “Water? Coffee? Juice?”

Before I could answer, Little Grandma’s voice floated over my shoulder. “No coffee. She’s been drinking too much caffeine. Bring her chamomile tea. Same as me.”

I turned, startled. “How did you⁠—”

“You have that jittery look,” Little Grandma said. “Not the good kind that comes from inspiration, the bad kind that comes from three cups too many.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Lettie scribbled something on her pad. “One cinnamon roll, one mystery breakfast plate, two chamomile teas, and one biscuit for my loving grandmother,” she said, tipping her head toward Little Grandma. “Be right back.”

The woman who had been a constant in my life settled into her booth with a small sigh and then reached both hands across the table, palms up.

I sat opposite her and put my hands in hers.

I didn’t squeeze like I used to when everything in me felt like it was unraveling. I didn’t clutch her like a lifeline.

I just held on.

Connection instead of survival.

She studied my face for a long moment, her thumbs brushing over my knuckles.

“You’ve done well,” she said finally.

The words slid right past my defenses and lodged somewhere deep.

“I’ve come to grips with some things,” I admitted. “I’ll always mourn, but it no longer consumes me.”

She nodded. “It was the same way for me,” she said. “But we can’t compare my situation, Honey. I went on to have my sons. Have you reconciled that your path is different?”

My throat tightened. I pulled in a breath that felt too big for my chest.