Settling into a corner table, I hoped for just a moment of peace amidst the chaos that life had become. The café was warm and inviting, filled with the gentle hum of conversations and the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I ordered a steaming cup of chamomile tea, hoping it would help me rejuvenate after the morning’s stresses.
As I fed Amy, her tiny fingers clutching my worn fingers, a wave of love mixed with sorrow washed over me. I thought of Sarah, and how much she would have adored these precious moments with her daughter. But there was no time to dwell. Amy’s needs were immediate and all-consuming, and I had to be strong for her.
Soon, an unfamiliar tension began to permeate the cozy atmosphere of the café. The waitress eyed us with a slight frown each time she walked by. With each pass, her eyes lingered more disapprovingly on the stroller beside me. Finally, she approached, feigning a polite smile but with a tone that betrayed her discomfort. “Excuse me, ma’am,” she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially, “we’re actually not set up for children here. It’s a quiet café.”
