I poured my drink.
Then I poured the bitter fruit drink he had always loved into the second glass.
For a moment, I simply stared at it.
Then I smiled through my tears.
I lifted my glass.
“To another day, Victor.”
The chair remained empty.
The kitchen was silent.
But for the first time since he had gone, the silence didn’t feel completely empty.
Because I finally understood.
The drink had never been the most important part.
The most important part was that every night, for thirty-five years, Victor had found a reason to sit across from me and say,
“We made it through another day.”
And now, even though he was no longer there to say it…
I could say it for both of us.
“A glass for another day,” I whispered.
“And for the thirty-five years we shared.”
Then I took a sip.
And for the first time in my life, the bitter taste didn’t bother me at all.
