I picked up a used washing machine from a thrift store

She nodded.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, her voice trembling—but this time, not from sadness. “Everything is more than okay.”

The younger man stepped forward.

Tall. Well-dressed. The kind of guy who looked like he ran things.

“I’m Chris,” he said, extending his hand. “That’s my mom.”

I shook it slowly.

Still trying to understand.

“Did something happen?” I asked.

He let out a breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “Something good.”