The Last Loaf
A baker, her corner shop, and every quiet morning
Every morning, Grandma Rose opened her small on the .
She woke up early, before the sun came up.
She made bread with her old hands and a warm heart.
Each smelled sweet, and the shop felt like home.
People walked past every day and smiled at the window.
"Good morning!" she said to each with a big smile.
Grandma Rose knew every name on the street.
She sold bread, cakes, and small cookies each day.
Her best bread was a round with a soft, warm inside.
Many years ago, the shop was always full of people.
Children came after school and bought sweet buns.
Old friends came in the afternoon and talked for hours.
But this year, people came to the .
A big new store opened near the station.
It sold bread in bright plastic bags.
Each week, Grandma Rose made less and less bread.
Yesterday, she baked ten loaves, but she sold only three.
In the evening, one last sat on the .
She looked at it and felt a little sad.
"Maybe people forgot my little shop," she said .
She wrapped the last and put it away.
Then she turned off the lights and locked the door.
But the next morning, a thing happened.
A small boy stood outside her door and waited.