Every Saturday, I drove back to the home. Margaret always kept a seat for me near the window, in Rosie’s old chair.
One afternoon, I brought a small bunch of tulips and placed them across the seat of that chair.
Margaret watched quietly, her knitting needles resting still in her lap.
“She taught me how to stay,” I said.
Margaret gave one small nod, and the sunlight slowly moved across the petals.