Table

The old wooden table had seen everything — celebrations, silence, arguments, and apologies too fragile to say aloud.

Some chairs had stayed filled for years, while others sat empty long after goodbye had settled into the room.

She traced her fingers across its worn surface, remembering the versions of herself that had once gathered there.

Time had taken people, changed stories, and rearranged the shape of family in ways she never expected.

Yet somehow, the table remained — steady, patient, carrying every echo without judgment.

And for the first time in a long while, she sat down not to grieve what was missing, but to honour what had been.

With love

— Maggie The Afterlove Voice 💫

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Afterlove-Voice@hotmail.com