The storm hit Millstone faster than anyone expected. Snow swallowed the highway, and I hadn’t planned to open that night. Then I saw them — a dozen semi-trucks pulled onto the shoulder, headlights cutting through the blizzard. Rough, frozen, exhausted men tapped at my door: “Ma’am… any chance we could come in for coffee? The highway’s closed.” I hesitated. Twelve hungry truckers, alone in my tiny diner… it sounded impossible. But my grandmother’s words rang in my head: If you have warmth to give

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