Every morning, my dad opened the kitchen window before making coffee.
Even in winter.
I asked him once why.
He said, “Your mom liked the morning air.”
She had been gone for years.
I thought he was simply holding onto an old habit.
Then, after Dad passed away, I found a small envelope taped underneath the windowsill.
Inside was a photograph of my parents standing in that same kitchen.
On the back, Dad had written:
“The morning after our first date, she stood by this window and said,