She stood by the window waiting for him. The coffee wasn't warm anymore and he was probably late as usual – since he was born. She reminded herself of his late burst into the world – almost invading the tenth month. Yet, he was definitely worth waiting for. Memories flooded her mind and heart. Then she saw the old faithful oak tree in the garden straighten up and extend its branches as if to reach up her hand, saying: "stay!" She hoped deep in her heart that he withdraw his plan or at least forgot all about it. She felt she was losing ground.
Although she was eighty nine, alone, she could still take a bowl of milk by herself, put it on the grass outside waiting for all the kittens to gather and fight over their right to drink some. She can put crumbs outside for the pigeons to come. Why should she leave? Leave her nest, her memories, her…self. She wanted to hold tightly to the familiar. To be close to her hand made curtains, to the smell, to the known cracks on the floor, and to memories. In the middle of her thoughts, she didn't even notice his arrival. She turned around and saw a stranger.