I had always gotten along well with the shop owner, Mrs. Jenkins. She’d told me more than once that if I ever wanted to come back, the job would be waiting.
I hadn’t even reached the counter when the sound of familiar voices drifted toward me. A few of my old coworkers were huddled together, talking in low tones. Their voices weren’t loud, but just enough for the words to slip through the air and find me.
“Have you heard? Angela’s insisting on divorcing her husband!”
The words hit me like a dropped plate shattering on tile. My hand, halfway to fastening on my name tag, froze. The sound of it felt like every head in the room had turned my way, though I knew they hadn’t.
“What? But her husband treats her so well,” one of them whispered back. “During her confinement, he came here every single day to buy baby supplies himself. He even remembered the exact diaper sizes. And now that the child just turned one, she’s asking for a divorce?”
They rattled off the details I knew all too well—little gestures lined up like medals on display, and I felt more exposed than I had any right to.