The next Sunday, I was ready. I had replayed a dozen conversations in my head, each one more confrontational than the last. But when he arrived, looking even frailer than before, my rehearsed words vanished.

“Can we talk?” I asked hesitantly after serving him his usual coffee and slice of pie.

He paused, his eyes searching mine, and nodded. “Okay.”

We sat in the booth, the diner bustling around us, yet it all faded into a quiet hum. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“I’ve watched you from afar for a long time, Jess. I know I don’t deserve to be in your life, but I wanted to help in whatever small way I could,” he explained, his voice barely above a whisper.