I turned toward Robert.
“What property?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key.
“Sweetheart, please come with me.”
I didn’t want to go.
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But my curiosity was stronger than my anger.
Half an hour later, we stopped in the city center.
Standing before us was a beautiful two-story building.
Above the entrance, large letters spelled out:
“MARGARET’S BOOK HOUSE.”
I froze.
Inside were towering bookshelves, comfortable armchairs, flowers, and large windows that filled the rooms with sunlight.
In one corner was a charming little section dedicated to children’s books.
Books
It was exactly as I had imagined it when I was young.
But the most emotional detail was an old photograph hanging on the wall.
It showed me at forty-eight, standing in my beloved bookstore.
Robert stood beside me.
“I never forgot your dream, Margaret.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks.