She\'s been bringing me soup for 6 months. She died 2 years ago.

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My neighbor has been bringing me soup every day for six months. I only just realized she's been dead the whole time. It started after my surgery. I couldn't get out of bed. Couldn't cook. Couldn't do anything. Then she just... showed up. Margaret. Grey cardigan. Smelled like lavender. Warm smile, warm soup, every single day without fail. I never questioned it. I was too grateful. But last week, I finally felt well enough to walk next door to thank her properly. The house was empty. Had been for two years, according to the landlord. Margaret died in that house. Alone. No family. No one to bring her soup. I went home shaking. Sat at my kitchen table. And there it was. A fresh bowl. Still steaming. And for the first time... I noticed her hands. Different skin tones. Like she'd been put together from pieces. She looked up at me, and she smiled. "You remind me of my daughter," she said. "She never let me take care of her either." I finished the soup. It was the best thing I'd ever tasted. I don't ask questions anymore. Some things are better left warm.