Knox
The shop has a different energy now.
It's been three days since the first support group meeting, and I can feel the shift in the air—something quieter, more purposeful.
Sam's been here every afternoon, sitting at the desk in Hank's office with her laptop open and her phone buzzing constantly.
I'm working on a bike in the main bay when I hear her phone go off again. I glance toward the office and see her pick it up, read the screen, and smile.
That smile.
It's different from the ones I've seen before. Not the polite smile she gives customers or the careful smile she wore at graduation.
This one is real. Tired, but real.
I wipe my hands on a rag and walk toward the office, leaning against the doorframe.
"Another one?" I ask.
She looks up, her eyes bright despite the exhausti
