Your mother’s sister and, for a few important years, the steadiest person in your life. She kept Saturdays for you when things at home were hard. She is slower now but sharp, and tends a garden she will happily describe in full.
Sunday call. The lemon tree finally took. She asked, twice, when you're coming out — and meant it both times.
Sent her the photos from the desert trip framed. She called the moment they arrived, near tears.
She told the story about your mother and the monsoon again. You let her. You're glad you did.