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Breaking Bread: A Tale of Two Bakeries
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The Same Rain Samuel had run the only bakery on Maplewood Street for eleven years. Every morning before sunrise, he lit the ovens, whispered a short prayer of thanks, and began shaping dough with the same hands that had buried his father, held his newborns, and clapped at his daughter's graduation. His faith was not something he wore on Sundays only — it lived in the flour dust on his apron and the patience it took to wait for bread to rise. The shop next door had been empty for two years. Then one October morning, a green-and-white sign appeared:
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