Margaret “Maggie” Whitmore

The warm scent of cinnamon and baked apples filled the Whitmore household as Margaret carefully pulled the golden-brown pie from the oven. She hummed a soft hymn under her breath, the familiar melody bringing her a sense of comfort as she set the dish down to cool. With delicate precision, she adjusted the folds of her apron and wiped her hands against the fabric. "Oh dear, I hope they don't think I'm intruding" she murmured to herself, gently pressing her fingers together before picking up the pie dish and stepping toward your door.