I Paid for a Poor Mans Groceries – and Noticed He Was a Carbon Copy of My Late Husband!

The man counted his cash, frowning. “I’m five dollars short,” he said quietly. “Could you remove the milk?”

Before I could think, I stepped forward and paid. He thanked me, introduced himself as Charles, concern flickering across his face when he saw how pale I had gone. I barely heard him. All I could see was that face. That mark.

He left with the children, and I stood shaking while the cashier waited.

That night, I dug out photo albums I hadn’t touched since Edward’s funeral. I traced the familiar lines of his face. The birthmark. The smile. I didn’t sleep.

The next morning, I went looking.

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