Candid-v3 -

She sat at the last table by the window, the one with the wobbly leg she’d learned to balance with a folded napkin. The café was half-empty—a Monday evening kind of half-empty, where people nursed flat whites and stared at phones without really seeing them.

Lena nodded. She didn’t say “I know.” She didn’t say “It doesn’t get better.” candid-v3

The girl nodded slowly. Then she picked up the cold coffee and drank it anyway. She sat at the last table by the

“No,” Lena said. “Go ahead.”

Lena almost laughed. Not at him. With him. candid-v3

“Does it ever stop hurting?” the girl asked.