Every Loaf Is for Her

Pilar opened her small bakery on Cherry Street three years ago. The local paper sent someone to write about it.

“What's your aim with this place?” the writer asked.

Pilar wiped flour from her hands. “I used to work in a big office in the city. I had a good job, a good salary. But I wasn't cheerful. Every morning felt the same.”

“So you left to bake bread?”

“I did. My ambition was never money. My aim was to make something people can hold and eat and enjoy. Bread is honest. You can't fake good bread.”

The writer looked around the warm little shop.

“And is this your achievement, then? This bakery?”

Pilar smiled, but her eyes were a little sad. “My mother taught me to bake. She passed away before she saw this shop. So yes, it's my achievement. But she's not here to taste it.” She put a fresh loaf on the counter. “Every loaf is for her. That's the real aim.”