An essay published by the Good Men Project. Read the full story here or click below.
He spots her while backing from his parking space, rushing to catch up with a day he should’ve already started.
She is smiling, waving. Does he know her? Impossible. He would remember a face like that. Her ponytail swings with each step. She is suffused with a confidence that can be construed as warmth.
He waves and continues to back away.
—Wait, she says. Hold on.