Chapter 2: A Woman Carrying Too Much
Of course she didn’t recognize me.
Back then, I had been the grieving, overweight kid with a limp. The boy people looked at only when they wanted something to laugh at.
Now I was thirty-seven. Leaner. Quieter. Sharper around the edges. Years of rebuilding had changed my face, my body, and the way I carried myself.
Still, it hurt.
“Do you want some water?” I finally asked. “You look exhausted.”
She shook her head quickly.
“I can’t. My brother’s waiting. He’s not well. I’m his only caregiver.”
“Only caregiver?”
Her smile was tired enough to break something in me.
“After our mom passed, it’s just me. Goodnight, sir.”
Then she hurried back into the rain, toward a rusted Mustang beneath the streetlamp. Continue Reading ⬇️
