Just last night, the golden glow of dusk filled the modest dining room where Doris and her elderly mother, Beaux, enjoyed a quiet dinner.
Clinking utensils and soft murmurs of conversation were abruptly interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone perched on the table between them. They exchanged wary glances, curiosity etched on their faces as to who might be calling at this late hour.
Just as Beaux attempted for the receiver, Doris gently interjected, her voice a gentle lull, "I'll get it, mom. Please keep eating." With a determined stride, she moved toward the phone, her heart quickening with the anticipation of an unknown caller.
As she lifted the receiver to her ear, the voice on the other end greeted her with an authoritative tone, "Good evening, Mrs. Davis."
