Hannah
I strode through the front doors of the soup kitchen, my heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and excitement. This was it—my first real foray into volunteer work, into proving that I could be more than just a pretty face trailing after my husband.
I was determined to make a good impression.
A kind-faced older woman with graying hair tied back in a messy bun immediately approached me when I stepped through the doors, her eyes widening slightly as she took me in.
“Oh! Luna Hannah, it’s an honor to have you here,” she said, bowing her head politely.
I offered her a warm smile, holding out my hand to shake hers. “Please, just call me Hannah. It’s wonderful to be here.”
The woman grasped my hand firmly, giving it a gentle shake as she returned my smile. “Of c
