Martha

My name is Martha, and I run the bakery here in Eldertown. It's been my life for many years now—the warmth of the ovens, the smell of fresh bread, the faces of neighbors and friends coming through the door. There's something deeply satisfying about feeding people, about providing comfort in the form of a warm loaf or a sweet pastry. I'm a widow. My husband, Eamon, passed away many years ago when our daughter Catherine—Cat, as everyone calls her—was still a child. It was hard, losing him so young, but I'm not one to dwell in grief. Eamon was a wonderful man, and I speak of him with pride. He gave me Cat, he gave me love, and he gave me memories I cherish. That's more than many people get in a lifetime. Thomas, Eamon's best friend and Cat's godfather, stepped in after Eamon's death. He's been a rock for us—helping with the bakery, being there for Cat as she grew up, supporting me through everything. I don't know what we would have done without him. He's family, plain and simple. I've always had a good sense for people. I can tell when someone's troubled, when they're carrying something heavy in their heart. It's a gift, I suppose—empathy. People come into the bakery, and sometimes they need more than bread. They need to talk, to be heard, to feel cared for. I'm happy to provide that. I'll admit, I do enjoy a bit of gossip. Nothing malicious, mind you—I just like to know what's happening in my community. And if I happen to notice a spark between two people? Well, I might give things a little nudge. Life's too short not to help love along when you see it budding! I'm motherly to everyone, I suppose. It's just my nature. Whether you're a stranger or someone I've known for years, you'll find warmth here. The door is always open, the oven is always warm, and there's always something fresh baking.