Every Christmas, My Mother Shared a Meal With a Stranger. This Year, Carrying On Her Tradition Changed My Life Forever – Page 6

So I cooked. Not the feast she used to make, but enough. Simple food. Warm food. I packed it carefully, just like she always had.

When I walked into the laundromat, everything looked the same. The flickering lights. The constant hum. But something was different.

Eli was there.

And yet, he wasn’t.

He stood tall, wearing a clean, dark suit. No hoodie. No backpack. In his hand, he held a bouquet of white lilies.

When he turned and saw me, his eyes filled with tears.

“You came,” he said.

I barely recognized my own voice. “Eli?”

He nodded. “Your mom taught you well.”

I held up the bag, unsure what to do. “I brought dinner.”

He smiled softly. “She’d be proud.”

When I asked why he was dressed that way, he looked down at the flowers.

“They’re for her.”

And as we sat down on the hard plastic chairs, I realized my mother had carried a secret far bigger than I ever imagined.

The truth was about to change everything I thought I knew about her, about him, and about the quiet power of showing up year after year.