My eyebrows tightened.
“Then what was it?”
He looked at the kitten.
“This little one belonged to my wife.”
The room became quiet.
My husband’s mother had passed away three years earlier.
I knew the story.
Everyone knew the story.
She had been the heart of their family. The woman who cooked every holiday meal, remembered every birthday, and kept everyone connected.
But my father-in-law rarely talked about her.
“I found this kitten outside our house two weeks before she died,” he continued. “She loved animals. She said this little one was a sign that something beautiful could still enter our home even during difficult times.”
His voice became softer.
“She named her Lily.”
I looked at the kitten.
The tiny animal curled into my husband’s arms, completely unaware of the tension in the room.
“When my wife was sick, she asked me for one thing,” he said. “She asked me to make sure our family never forgot kindness.”
