It was one of those bitter winter evenings when the cold seems to slip through every crack in the door. The small diner on Main Street had only a few customers scattered across the booths, most of them quietly finishing late dinners while snow drifted past the windows outside. I was working the late shift behind the counter when the front door creaked open and an elderly woman stepped inside.
Her coat looked too thin for the weather, and the cold had turned her cheeks pale red. She moved slowly toward the counter, clutching a small purse like it was the most important thing she owned.
