#decisions

The woman at the café orders her coffee the same way every morning: double espresso, no sugar, ceramic cup. She sits at the corner table, the one with the wobbly leg, and opens a notebook she never writes in.

I know because I've been watching for three weeks.

Today she's wearing a ring on her left hand that wasn't there yesterday. It catches the morning light—silver, or maybe white gold. She turns it absently while staring at the blank page.

The bus stop bench wore someone else's warmth. Maria sat down anyway, pulling her coat tighter against the December wind. Beside her, a man muttered into his phone—

I'm not coming home, Carmen. I can't.

She looked away, studied the graffiti on the shelter wall. A heart with no names. Just the outline.