I nodded, surprised by his visit.
We sat at the counter, the overhead lights casting shadows across his face.
“There’s something about the service that’s been bothering me,” he confessed.
His revelation was unexpected, a crack in his otherwise composed demeanor.
“Why did you allow the bikers to take charge?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.
He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound.
“It was either them or no one,” he said simply.
“The man had no family, no one to claim him.”
The weight of his words settled between us, heavy and unyielding.
I understood now the burden he carried, the decisions made in silence.
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