“After our mom passed, it’s just me.” She forced a tired smile. “Goodnight, sir.”

She hurried back through the rain. From the window, I watched her reach an old rusted Mustang under the streetlamp. The engine would not start. Then she lowered her forehead to the wheel, and when her shoulders began to shake, I knew this was not just a bad night.

It was a hard life.

I grabbed my keys, but before I reached her, the engine finally caught. She wiped her face, backed out too quickly, and disappeared into the rain.

I stood there with cold food in my hand and twenty years of memories in my chest.