Chapter 2; Another day in town
1186 Words
Today is my first day at the toy store.
And there are only six days until Christmas.
Yes, I’m happy about the new job.
Yes, I’m still living in a house full of boxes.
AND yes… I forgot to buy a bed yesterday.
So I slept on the sofa.
And now I can barely walk.
Honestly, I feel about 65 years old — one foot in the grave.
WHO made that sofa?!
I cannot believe someone designed it and said,
“Yes, perfect. Let’s produce this and sell it to innocent humans.”
They should be held responsible for every chiropractor appointment caused by that thing. Including mine.
Yes, I’m only 33.
But today? I would gladly accept a wheelchair if Karl happens to have one in the store. Or maybe the sweet cookie lady from yesterday has one in her basement.
I’m standing in the middle of my living room, trying to stretch muscles I didn’t even know existed.
I really need to order a bed today.
A big one. Soft. Cloud-like. Heavenly.
Every movement makes my body protest. I probably didn’t break a rib — but it feels like it. Sleeping curled up like a tortilla chip with a twist in every corner all night does things to your spine.
“DING DING.”
The doorbell.
06:47.
Who shows up at 06:47 in the morning?!
That is criminal.
I peek carefully through the window. I do not have the energy for an overly curious neighbor jumping out of the bushes just because she saw me move in.
Thank God.
No one.
Just a newspaper lying neatly on the doorstep.
That’s… surprisingly kind.
In my old town, if something was placed on your property, it wasn’t good. It was usually a passive-aggressive message. Or dog poop returned to sender.
I pick up the paper and throw it onto the kitchen counter. Maybe I can use it to light the fireplace later.
But the headline catches my eye.
“The million-dollar question: Who is the woman in the picture? And is she pregnant?”
My stomach tightens.
On the front page — a huge photo of my ex-husband and his new girlfriend.
Of course.
They’re asking who she is?
If they really wanted to know, they could just walk into his company, take the elevator to the fifth floor, and see that she’s his assistant.
Personal assistant.
I don’t even read the article.
My mom always told me, “Never bow down for anyone.”
After a marriage like that, you stop believing in fairy tales. You stop believing in love.
I have a strong feeling he was cheating long before I found out. Maybe with others too.
But I’m glad I left.
Grandpa never liked him anyway.
“He doesn’t smile with his eyes,” Grandpa used to say.
And he was right.
Mark never really smiled at all.
~
I still can’t find my shoes. Or my work clothes.
They’re probably buried in the pile that tried to suffocate me in the driveway.
Do I open one box at a time? Or try to organize room by room?
I should probably buy some Christmas decorations around town.
I used to have the most beautiful Santa figurines. Some glass, some simple plastic ones. My grandmother made a few of them by hand.
They meant everything to me.
When I told Mark I wanted a divorce, he got so angry that he threw them against the wall.
Every single one shattered.
I remember falling to the floor, trying to piece them together with shaking hands.
He pulled me up, crying, apologizing, begging for another chance.
But how can “sorry” fix the only things I had left from my grandmother?
He knew how important they were.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
When he left the house that night, I gathered every broken piece and packed them with me.
One day, maybe, I’ll fix them.
For now, they’re somewhere in one of these hundred boxes.
~
PLING
The little bell above the shop door rings every time someone enters.
It’s such a beautiful sound.
“Good morning!”
Karl stands in the doorway at exactly 09:00, smiling as always. I’m pretty sure he arrives hours before opening.
“Good morning, Karl.”
I try to walk normally.
It’s not convincing.
“Why are you walking like that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I sigh. “I haven’t bought a bed yet. I slept on the sofa.”
Karl stares at me.
“Well… you look older than me today. Ho ho ho!”
I laugh — and to my own surprise, tears gather in my eyes.
Karl doesn’t react dramatically. He just looks at me with soft understanding.
Then he bursts into deep, warm laughter. The kind that fills the entire shop.
Even a mother outside with a stroller starts laughing when she hears him.
He laughs like a grandfather should.
“You are a very sweet girl,” he says gently.
My throat tightens.
How did I get so lucky to meet this man when everything else feels broken?
Before I can answer —
PLING
The door opens again.
A little girl with big curly hair and a teddy bear in her arms walks in.
Her backpack says “MOLLY.”
Karl’s face lights up instantly.
“Molly! This is my new assistant.”
He lifts her into his arms.
She has the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Long lashes. Perfect curls bouncing as she giggles.
“Hello, my name is Molly,” she says proudly, stretching out her tiny hand.
“Hello, Molly. I’m Alice. How old are you?”
“I’m four!” She proudly holds up four fingers.
Her smile…
It’s the same as Karl’s. A real one. The kind that reaches the eyes.
“Did Santa get my letter, Gramps?” she whispers seriously.
Hearing her call him “Gramps” makes my chest ache.
I miss my grandfather so much.
“What did you wish for?” I ask.
“Come! Come!”
She jumps down and runs toward the shelves.
Karl almost loses his balance, and I catch him quickly.
“Careful, Santa. One night on my sofa and you’d be younger tomorrow.”
He laughs loudly.
“No thank you, young lady!”
I really like this town.
“AL! AL! COME!”
She’s already given me a nickname.
Al.
I like it.
Molly runs toward the tallest shelf, trying to reach the biggest box at the top. She even starts climbing.
I quickly lift her down before Karl sees.
“That one! That one!”
She jumps excitedly.
When I look at the box, I smile.
A toy cash register with a scanner.
“Wow, Molly! Then you can open your own toy store in the garage.”
Her face lights up like Christmas lights.
Watching her makes something inside me grow.
Hope.
Seeing her this happy makes me want children even more.
To become a mother has always been my biggest dream.
And maybe…
Maybe this town is where everything finally begins.
- Writer
