Only then did I realize how deeply this man was connected to the tragedy that had destroyed my family.
But everything had begun with an ordinary Friday shopping trip.
***
My name is Margaret. I’m seventy years old, and for the past three years, I’ve been raising my granddaughter, Ellie, by myself.
She’s seven, with bright eyes, a generous heart, and the kind of smile that makes even my hardest days bearable.
Every Friday, we go grocery shopping at Walmart.
We don’t buy anything extravagant.
Usually, it’s bread, milk, eggs, and whatever vegetables happen to be discounted.
Sometimes, if there’s enough money left, Ellie gets to choose a small treat.
Money hasn’t been easy since my son and his wife passed away.
Our house is old. The kitchen ceiling leaks whenever it rains, and I’ve placed a large cooking pot beneath the worst spot.
