dge. I watched from a distance, the sunlight slanting through the windows, painting everything gold. That scene, simple, unremarkable to anyone else, made my chest ache. Because it was proof that Dad was still here, alive in the rhythm of every act of kindness his store inspired. That evening, as we locked up, I looked at Dexter and said, “He’d be proud of you, you know.” He looked down, smiling a little.
Xhbakhi