They put her in a retirement home. They said it was because they couldn’t take care of her anymore. She was terrified.

The second day she was there, she met the other residents. Most of them did nothing but drool. Certainly not the type of company she wanted to have. “Part of the bonus,” they had said, “was that you’ll be around people your own age, your own peers.” Like she had wanted that, she scoffed.

Like all retirement homes, they had activities. She had been signed up for as many as they could squeeze her in. She originally had hope for one: the book club. At least she had an escape. Yet, meeting the other residents did nothing but put her in a sour mood.

The woman running the club started by asking questions about the book. When no one answered her, she started reading a passage. She asked another question. Not one word. Then, from the back of the room came a gruff voice. An answer. She turned in her seat to see who was the verbal one. Her breath caught in her throat.

It couldn’t be. Not the one that she had once let go. But it was, the twinkle in his eye, the same upturned corner on the smile. He caught her eye and made that face, the face that he made only for her.

She smiled back. Maybe this would be fun after all.