Ethan handed me my change. “That was really kind,” he said.
“I’ve been in her shoes,” I said.
Three days later, there was a firm knock at my door. Not a light knock. A serious knock.
I froze with a basket of laundry in my hands. Emma ran over.
“Mom? Who is it?”
“No idea. Stay here,” I said.
I opened the door a crack. It wasn’t the landlord. It wasn’t a neighbor.
It was Ethan. From the store. Still in his polo, holding a plain white envelope.
“Lily?” he asked. “I’m here because of Mrs. Hargrove.”
My heartbeat kicked up.
“She… is she okay?” I asked.
He exhaled slowly. “She passed away. Yesterday.”
The hallway blurred.
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