I Returned to the Same Diner Every Birthday

the worn paper. My name was in handwriting I hadn’t seen in decades. But I knew it instantly.

“Who told you to bring this?” I asked.

“My grandfather.”

His expression was uncertain, almost apologetic.

“His name was Steed,” he added softly.

I didn’t sit. I took the envelope, nodded once, and walked out.

The cold air hit my face. I walked slowly to steady myself.continue reading …