For nearly half a century, my birthday followed the same quiet rhythm. No parties, no candles at home—just a careful walk to Marigold’s Diner and a familiar booth that held the beginning of my entire life. On my 85th birthday, I buttoned my coat, steadied myself, and made the slow trip to that corner table, just as I had every year before. That booth wasn’t special because of the food, but because it was where I first met Peter, and the past was… Continue Reading ⬇️
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