The fire was crackling cheerfully. A few fresh logs were tossed on top and spread around the grate.

Charlotte stood the photo frames in a line on the dusty coffee table and stirred a dash of milk in her tea.

“Aunt Grace,” she said to the first photo, of an older woman wearing a 1970s Easter bonnet. “You were such a firecracker.”

Then to the next photo, her cousin who died of cancer some years ago. “You made the best oatmeal butterscotch cookies.”

She bit into the cookie and marveled at the flavor. “And I got the recipe from you, of course.”

Then her sister, the nun. Joined the convent in the 80s and died there just a few years ago. I got my reverence for nature from her, Charlotte thought.

Each picture of a woman from her family reminded Charlotte of some aspect of herself.

I can’t let them down, she thought.

But for now, tea and cookies and this beautiful fire. She didn’t need anything else.