It was a chilly Saturday morning in downtown. I was heading to my favorite coffee shop, my mind already occupied with the day’s schedule. The city seemed alive, bustling with people who each had their own destinations, their own lives.
As I approached the subway station, something, or rather someone, stopped me in my tracks.
There she was, my ex, standing on the sidewalk, a figure from my past suddenly thrust into my present.
She was begging, her hands clutching those of three little kids. Kids who looked strikingly like me.
The street was gray but crowded, and yet it was as if we were the only ones there.
I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold like a surreal play.
The children’s clothes were worn, their eyes tired, mirroring a fatigue I felt deep within.
My feet felt glued to the ground, each step forward an impossible task.
People passed by without a glance, as if this scene was as ordinary as the morning rush.
But to me, it was everything but ordinary.
