No questions. No small talk.
Just that.
Weirdly, it helped more than all the “you’re so strong” speeches.
December turned mean.
The library put up crooked tinsel; kids tracked in slush; Christmas songs played from a tiny speaker.
I went through the motions.
Smile.
Scan.
Shelve.
Go home to a house that felt too big.
The day before Christmas, the cold was brutal.
I grabbed a faded fleece blanket, filled a thermos with tea, made a sandwich, tossed cookies into a bag, and shoved it all in my tote.
When I got off the bus, he was on the bench, shoulders hunched, newspaper drooping.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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