Not exactly as a charity.
At first, it was just Saturdays.
A free children’s reading room. Pancakes once a month. Board games. Art supplies. A shelf where every child who came could write their name on a paper rose and pin it to the wall.
The first morning, I stood on the porch with a stack of name tags and a stomach full of nerves.
“What if nobody comes?” I asked.
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Mom. There are pancakes.”
Noah checked the driveway.
“Three cars already.”
He was right.
Mrs. Delgado came with her grandchildren. Aunt Denise brought two neighbor kids. Cassandra came with Tyler. A woman from Emma’s school arrived with her daughter, who had recently moved and did not know anyone. By ten o’clock, the cottage was full of children reading on pillows, arguing over syrup, and writing their names on paper roses.
Emma pinned the first rose herself.
