The conversation should have ended yesterday.
Most people would have left it there. They would have said their piece, felt good about themselves, and moved on with their lives. That's how these things usually worked. People liked helping as long as helping was convenient. They liked offering advice because advice cost nothing. Listening was harder. Showing up again was harder. Most people never made it that far.
Which was why seeing Timothy Anderson standing there with two cups of coffee immediately irritated me.
Not because he had done anything wrong.
Because he had come back.
For some reason, I had expected him to disappear into the same category as everyone else who had briefly crossed my path. A stranger. A conversation. A memory. Instead, there he stood beneath the morning sunlig
