That parking lot was more than a space. It was a line in the sand. And finally, finally, we’d drawn ours.
But then, about two weeks later, I saw her again. Not from across the parking lot but right outside our building. I had just run out to grab Liam’s forgotten lunchbox from the car and as I rounded the corner toward the lobby, I saw her standing near the entrance.
Marge, hunched slightly over a brown paper bag with oil stains bleeding through the bottom.
A food delivery. Indian food, judging by the smell, tamarind and cardamom and something deliciously spicy curling through the air.
She didn’t see me at first. She was adjusting her grip on the bag when I approached.
“Evening,” I said.
She looked up, surprised. Her face went tight for a moment, like she expected me to sneer. I didn’t.
“You know, Marge,” I said gently. “Your behavior that day at the mall… it wasn’t just rude. It was mean. My kids were scared of you. And they don’t forget stuff like that.”
Her mouth opened slightly, like she had a defense ready. But then she stopped. The tension left her shoulders in a slow, tired exhale.
“You’re right,” she said.
There was a beat of silence between us. Her eyes shifted to the paper bag in her hands.
“It’s lonely,” she said finally, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Ordering an Indian takeaway for one.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She just gave a quiet nod, stepped into the elevator, and let the doors close behind her.
I didn’t follow. I just stood there for a moment, holding Liam’s lunchbox, unsure if what I felt was satisfaction, or something a little sadder.
Clearly Marge had done some soul-searching… and she didn’t like what she’d found
