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The email sat unopened on my screen, its subject line impossible to ignore: “Regarding the incident outside the grocery store.” I lived above that store, and nothing unusual ever happened there. Still, a knot formed in my chest. A week earlier, I’d made a small, impulsive decision. Now it seemed to be echoing back to me. Since my husband Nathan passed away, life had become a careful routine built around our two children.
His jacket still hung by the door, sometimes worn by my son when he missed his dad, sometimes hugged by my daughter for comfort. One cold morning, while heading downstairs, I noticed an older man sitting outside the grocery entrance, hands shaking from the cold. He said he was a veteran and asked for spare change. Instead of walking past, I went upstairs and brought back Nathan’s jacket, offering it simply because he needed warmth.
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