Back in high school, I had been the overweight grieving kid people only noticed when they wanted to laugh. Now I was thirty-seven, leaner, steadier, and shaped by years of building a life from nothing. Charlotte had no reason to connect me to the boy I used to be.

But it still hurt.

“Would you like some water?” I finally asked. “You look exhausted.”

She shook her head.

“I can’t. My brother is waiting. He’s not well. I’m his only caregiver.”

“Only caregiver?”

“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.