At around four, the bell above the diner door rang.
I was pouring coffee for a trucker in booth six. Hope was asleep beside the pie case.
That’s when I saw him.
Andy.
He looked young—maybe twenty-three or twenty-four—but grief had aged him, left him looking unfinished.
He stood just inside the door, holding a baseball cap in both hands.
His eyes went to Hope first.
Then to me.
“Hi, Jodi,” he said.
Every nerve in my body reacted before I could speak.
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Andy.”
He looked wrecked. Not dangerous. Just… broken.
“I loved your daughter,” he said.
The diner seemed to quiet around us in that strange way busy places sometimes do when your world shifts.
Lena silently took the coffee pot from my hand.
I pointed to the back booth. “Sit down.”
He sat like a man waiting for judgment.
I slid into the seat across from him. Hope stirred beside me.
“Start talking.”
His eyes filled instantly. He had to look down.
“She wanted to come home so many times.”
I gripped the table. “Then why didn’t she?”
“Because of your husband,” he said quietly. “After she called him, she cried for hours. He told her if she came back with me, she’d be throwing her life away. He said if she loved you, she’d stay gone and let you move on.”
