As Thanksgiving approached, William mourned his wife, Ellen, dreading the holiday without her. His daughter-in-law, Amelia, offered to cook, bringing some comfort. Moved by nostalgia, William gifted her Ellen’s cherished apron.
Thanksgiving morning, Amelia accepted the apron with a polite smile but later discarded it. Discovering it in the trash, William felt deep hurt, realizing his grief was more profound than he’d acknowledged.
Determined to address this, William invited Amelia for tea and led her to the attic, revealing neatly preserved memories. “I thought you’d value this,” he said, pointing to the apron. Amelia, uncomfortable, apologized, her words hollow.
“Maybe I pushed it on you,” William admitted, “but it meant a lot to Harry and me.” She nodded, uneasy. William hadn’t told Harry, wanting to avoid conflict.
Their relationship strained, William withdrew, not out of anger but hurt. He understood he needed time to grieve Ellen and keep her memory alive, even if it meant bearing some pain alone.
