The flavor of Grandmother’s love

 In winter, the aroma of simmering soup always filled Grandmother Stephany’s house, while spring brought the comforting scent of baking macaroni. For Gisela, her granddaughter, that place was not only where she felt right at home, it was where she escaped to. Her grandmother’s warm hug served as her daily haven during her parents’ acrimonious divorce.
Every afternoon, after school, Gisela would run to Stephany’s house. There, she was always met with open arms and a plate of food that soothed both her stomach and her heart. On cold days, a steaming bowl of soup would warm her up; in spring, the scent of macaroni filled the air. After eating, they would sit together on the small couch in the living room, where her grandmother would tell stories of her youth or knit colorful scarves while gently stroking Gisela’s hair. These were simple moments, but they were filled with love. However, Gisela grew up with time. Sports, homework, and friends made it harder and harder for her to visit her grandmother’s house. Stephany kept waiting, her table set for two, hoping to see her little girl running toward her like before. The house, once a refuge full of laughter and familiar
aromas, began to feel emptier. One afternoon, after months without visiting, Gisela stopped by her grandmother’s house. She knocked on the door, and when it opened, she found the same warmth as always, though Stephany was now a little more fragile, a little more tired. Her hands trembled more, but her smile had not changed. “I saved some macaroni for you, my dear,” her grandmother whispered softly. At that moment, a lump formed in Gisela’s throat. She realized how much she had missed this place, this unconditional love. From then on, Gisela vowed never to let time tear them apart. She began visiting more frequently, taking back those afternoons, listening intently to each story, each bit of guidance. But those years are merciless, and slowly, bit by bit, Stephany became weaker. Until one winter, the house was quiet. Gisela came over one afternoon, but this time, her grandmother wasn’t there to greet her at the door. The chair was empty, the soup was still warm, but the loving soul that had once filled that home was gone. Even though Stephany was greatly missed, Gisela was certain that her affection was still there. It was present in every scarf she knitted, in the smell of macaroni, and in the stories she treasured. In order to ensure that her grand-
mother’s legacy of love persisted, Gisela prepared meals in her honor each winter and spring. After all, though time may pass, love’s flavors never truly fade.