He quickly moved off to make another drink, pretending the conversation never happened. But I couldn’t leave.
I couldn’t pretend. My stomach churned with a feeling I hadn’t felt in years — hope, terrifying and fragile.
I found a corner booth and sat down. Hours passed.
I didn’t touch the coffee. I just watched.
He kept glancing at me like I was going to make a scene. I didn’t.
I waited until the place emptied and the sun dipped low.
When his shift ended, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. I stood blocking his way.
“Please,” I said, my voice trembling but steady. “Just listen.
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