How “Just One Day” Turned Into Two Years
I walked her home first to ask her grandmother.
The old woman looked at me, tired eyes, shaking hands.
I expected suspicion.
Instead, she studied me for a long moment… then nodded.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
At school, the girl didn’t let go of my hand once.
Not during breakfast.
Not during games.
Not when other kids ran ahead.
“This is my angel man,” she told people.
That afternoon, when I brought her home, her grandmother thanked me again.
And when I tried to leave, the girl wrapped her arms around me and asked:
“When are you coming back?”
I told myself I wouldn’t.
But I did.
The next morning.
And the next.
Every day at 7 a.m., she’d be waiting on the porch, backpack on, eyes scanning the street for me like I was the bus she couldn’t afford to miss.
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