After a long shift and a moment of quiet kindness at the grocery store, a tired mother finds her ordinary life interrupted by an unexpected knock at the door. What follows is a quiet unraveling of grief, grace, and one man’s final request that changes everything.
I was bone-tired—so exhausted that one more wrong beep in the bread aisle might have pushed me to tears.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their hum a little too loud, casting everything in a dull yellow haze that made the world feel heavier than it already was. My feet throbbed after a 12-hour shift, the kind of deep ache no hot bath or cup of tea could fix. It was the sort of bone-deep exhaustion that reminded me—loudly—that being 43 wasn’t nearly as young as it once felt.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
All I wanted was to get in and out of the grocery store.
Bread, milk, cheese, maybe something frozen for dinner—just the basics for a working mom who hadn’t slept properly in years. With my daughters, fifteen-year-old Ara and seventeen-year-old Celia, both sniffling with colds while juggling homework, and the house teetering in post-divorce chaos, burnout hovered so close that even pushing the cart felt overwhelming.
It was the usual survival kit for a working mom…
