I nearly dialed 911 on the tattooed teenager holding a screaming baby inside an empty 1 AM laundromat. Then his bag tore open, and my stomach sank with utter shame.

Nothing fancy.

Paper cups.

Fruit trays.

A banner someone had made by hand.

I went because Emma insisted I wear my “fancy Nana necklace.”

Rachel came too.

Jackson had invited her himself.

He acted casual when he told me.

Too casual.

Like a man mentioning the weather while carrying a mountain.

“She should see it,” he said. “She knew me before I thought I could continue reading …