After the second trip, I staggered into the bookstore like a war hero returning from battle—groceries clutched in my arms, hair sticking out in every direction, clothes coated in dust and pigeon feathers I didn't want to talk about.
Bertha inspected the items like a commander reviewing troops.
"Onions?"
"Check."
"Chicken?"
"Check."
"Butter?"
"Check."
"Bread?"
I held it up reverently.
"CHECK."
"And something sweet for Alya?"
I held up a pastry bag.
Alya perked up instantly. "Give."
"No."
"Give."
"NO."
She pounced.
We wrestled.
Bertha smacked us both with a dishrag.
"Enough! I need to cook!"
She marched to the kitchen, and we scampered behind her.
The kitchen—small, warm, cluttered—filled quickly with rich, savory smells as Bertha worked with surprising speed for someone who needed a cane to walk. Onions sizzled loudly in the pot, filling the air with a buttery aroma that made my stomach rumble embarrassingly.
"What are you making?" I asked.
"French onion soup," she declared proudly.
"What's… 'French'?"
She waved dismissively. "Some place far away. They make good soup."
The onions caramelized into a golden-brown treasure. Butter melted. Broth simmered. Bertha hummed a familiar little tune—a tune I found myself humming too.
Alya hopped onto the counter.
"Off," Bertha said.
Alya stayed on the counter.
"OFF."
Alya moved to the next counter.
"Close enough," Bertha muttered.
When the soup was finally done, she ladled it into three bowls and passed them to us.
I blew gently on the surface before taking a cautious sip.
Warmth exploded in my mouth.
Rich.
Savory.
Sweet.
Perfect.
I froze.
Alya froze.
We looked at each other, then back at Bertha.
Bertha smirked. "Good, isn't it?"
I nodded slowly. "Grandma… this is incredible."
Alya thumped her tail twice in agreement before inhaling her bowl like she hadn't eaten in days.
For a moment—just a small one—the world was perfect.
Warm soup.
Warm house.
Warm laughter.
A calm, peaceful evening with people who didn't expect anything from me.
It wasn't the life I came from.
It wasn't the life I was meant to lead.
But for tonight…
It was enough.