She still sets a plate for him every Sunday

My grandmother lost my grandfather almost 11 years ago. They were married for 52 years. Every Sunday, for as long as I can remember, she would cook his favorite meal — roast chicken, potatoes, salad, always in the same bowls, same table setup.
Last Sunday I went over to visit her and saw two plates set, like always. I gently reminded her it was just us.
She smiled and said, “I know. But he always liked to sit with me on Sundays. I still like to pretend he does."
She sat across from the empty chair and started serving the food like he was still there. It broke my heart in this quiet, gentle way. Grief isn’t loud, most of the time. It just lingers in the habits we can’t unlearn.

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