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Milk. Cereal. Laundry Detergent. Chicken.

The kind of shopping trip where the receipt looks like a small mortgage payment.

My husband, Nate, was home with our two kids because our youngest had a fever.

I expected to be gone an hour.

Instead, it all started before I even got inside.

There were rows of carts near the entrance. I grabbed one.

Then a woman behind me shouted, “Excuse me! That was MY cart!”

I turned around.