He left, and Mom stepped in without a second thought, helping me keep everything together.
Between her job, my job, and the children, we function like a small, overworked team trying to get through life one responsibility at a time.
By the time I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, the sky had already turned a deep early-winter blue.
I only needed a few quick things for an easy dinner I wouldn’t feel too guilty about: macaroni and cheese, chicken tenders, apples, juice boxes, the usual single-mom survival kit.
I hurried through the aisles, already planning the rest of the evening: homework, baths, bedtime stories, dishes, maybe one load of laundry if I didn’t collapse first.
My arms were full of grocery bags when I stepped back into the cold parking lot.
A sharp wind hit my face, waking me more than the office coffee ever managed.
I gripped the bags tighter and walked faster, picturing Mom waiting on the couch while Frodo and Daisy bounced around her like over-caffeinated squirrels.
Then I saw him.
A man in his late forties sat slumped on the curb beside the cart return, shoulders hunched inward as if he wanted to disappear.
