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The woman at the café table had been crying into the same cup of coffee for twenty minutes. Not the dramatic kind of crying—just silent tears that kept finding her chin, one after another, like they'd been waiting in line.
I told myself I wasn't watching her. But my notebook stayed blank.
She was maybe thirty, dressed like she'd grabbed whatever was closest that morning. Wedding ring still on. Phone face-down on the table, untouched even when it buzzed. Three times, four. The waiter had given up asking if she needed anything else.