For nearly twenty years, my mother, Cathy, was the heartbeat of Beller’s Bakery — a small, family-owned shop that smelled like heaven every morning and felt like home to anyone who walked through its doors. She wasn’t just an employee; she was the soul of the place. Customers came for her coffee recommendations, her easy laughter, and the way she remembered everyone’s name — from the college kid with midterms to the old man who always ordered a bran muffin and black coffee.
