I was a single mother, and every afternoon a neighbor would show up to ask me for salt

She stood there with quivering lips and told me that salt was the only excuse she could invent to knock on my door without feeling ashamed of what she truly needed.

At first, I didn’t understand. The anger that had been swelling inside my chest slowly dissolved into confusion, and then into a quiet, creeping guilt.

Margaret explained that ever since her husband died two years ago, her apartment had grown unbearably silent. Some days passed without her hearing another human voice.

Her children lived far away in other cities, busy with careers and families of their own. They called now and then, but rarely came to see the mother who had once guided their tiny steps.