By Jonathan Bennett • February 28, 2026 • Share
The young man on my porch had hair the color of bruised plums and blackened fingernails. In my mind, he was the collapse of the country. Turns out, I was the one who had fallen apart.
I hadn’t wanted the food delivery app. My daughter insisted after Alice passed. “One click, Dad. Hot meal.” So I clicked.
Half an hour passed, and I found myself waiting at the door, unsure of what to expect. The world had changed so much, and I was just trying to keep up.
The doorbell rang, startling me from my thoughts. I opened the door, and there he was, with a meal in hand.
His appearance was jarring at first, but there was something in his eyes—not defiance, but perhaps understanding.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, taking the meal and stepping back.
He nodded, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. As he turned to leave, I found myself wanting to ask more, to understand.
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