For fifty years, Edna was the person everyone wanted to sit next to at a wedding.
Ask anyone in her family — Edna is the sweet one. The easy one.
The grandmother everyone wants.
She remembers every grandchild's favourite meal.
She's the first to arrive at the hospital for her family, and the last to leave.
And she still sends handwritten cards in an age when nobody else does.
But here is where that changed.
At her daughter's house on Sunday, Edna was the one carving the chicken.
She always was. It was her job.
The family joke was that nobody else could carve it properly — "let Mum do it."
She was halfway through passing a plate to her son-in-law.
Then the tickle started.
That familiar tickle at the back of her throat.
She coughed.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Edna didn't notice anything had happened.
But everyone else did.
Her son-in-law tensed up.
Her grandson quietly pushed his plate away from him.
No one made eye contact.
And nobody said a word.
A few of them had even stopped eating.
The next Sunday, it happens again. And the Sunday after that.
Nobody knows how to bring it up.
They love her too much to say anything.
Eventually, family and friends just... stop inviting her out.
Holiday dinner? "We're so busy this week, Mum — let's do next week."
Then next week becomes the week after.
The grandchildren stopped running up to sit on her lap.
Nobody planned any of it.
Nobody decided anything.
It just… quietly happened.
This is what no-one tells you about post-nasal drip.
You rarely realise how often you're clearing your throat.
Or how it sounds to everyone else.
And even your family won't tell you.