She gave me a tired smile. “Then why do you always look like you want to punch the electric bill?”
That made me laugh—but only for a second.
After she fell asleep, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
I kept seeing that little girl holding the milk.
Kept hearing her say her mother’s name. Marilyn.
And I kept thinking about the man in the coat.
The next afternoon, after my shift, I walked out of the store—and saw him waiting near the carts.
He didn’t come too close.
That helped.
I stopped under the awning, where other customers were passing by, and crossed my arms.
He looked terrible.
Pale. Unshaven. His eyes red, like he hadn’t slept at all.
“Please don’t leave,” he said. “I need to explain.”
My pulse quickened.
“You’ve got 30 seconds.”
He swallowed hard.
“My name is Daniel. Last night, the girl at your register said her mother’s name. Marilyn.”
I stared at him.
“Marilyn was the woman I loved most in my life.”
That wasn’t what I expected.
He continued before I could respond.
“We were together when we were young. We had plans—real ones. But then my parents stepped in. They wanted someone wealthier. Someone they approved of. And I let them decide my future for me. I left her.”
I said nothing.
“Then I saw that little girl,” he said. “And she looks exactly like me.”
