By lunchtime, my stomach had twisted itself into knots.
And when the break room doors swung open, I stepped straight into a wall of sound.
Groups had already settled in. Laughter, private jokes, people leaning over tables as if they had known one another forever.
I stood there clutching my lunch bag like a child on her first day at a new school, looking around for a place where I would not feel like an interruption. Mealplanning kits
Every table was occupied. Every group had its own rhythm, and I did not belong to any of them.
Then, near the window, a man in a gray uniform lifted his eyes from his sandwich. He was older, probably in his sixties, with gentle eyes and the sort of quiet presence that asked for nothing.
“You can sit here, if you’d like,” he said.
I nearly cried.
