Chapter 3: The Card in the Tin
Walter shifted his weight like a man irritated by consequences.
“I don’t want you struggling, hon.”
The word hon landed between us like something rotten.
“You should’ve thought about that before you traded me in.”
He looked toward the door. For one second, I thought he might say something real. Something human. Something that could not fix the damage but might at least name it honestly.
Instead, he began patting his pockets.
“Your blood pressure pills,” I said.
He turned back.
“They’re on the counter.”
Shame flickered across his face so quickly I almost missed it.
Then it disappeared.
He grabbed the bottle and walked out.
I waited until Marcy’s car vanished down the street before touching the card.
Then I stood, placed it inside the old butter-cookie tin above the stove, and washed my teacup at the sink.
Because I knew that once I started crying, I might never stop.
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