Chapter 83 Is That All You’ll Be Getting Today?
“Thank you, sir. Thank you, ma’am.” Maggie’s teeth clicked together on the last word.
The woman gave a small nod.
They stepped aside. Maggie climbed the stoop. The warmth of the house hit her like a blanket— coffee, laundry detergent, faint trace of dinner. The living room was small: worn sectional, coffee table stacked with magazines, a single lamp burning low.
The man pointed. “Couch is all yours.”
Maggie lowered herself onto the cushions, backpack still clutched to her chest.
The couple exchanged a quick glance.
“Good night,” the man said quietly.
“Good night,” Maggie whispered.
They walked down the short hallway. A door closed. The lock clicked.
Maggie lay down— slowly, carefully— head on one armrest, knees curled up. She pulled the backpack against her stomach like a shield.
She stared at the ceiling.
A single tear slipped sideways into her hair.
Then her eyes closed.
The house settled around her— creaks, distant radiator hiss, the soft breathing of strangers who had chosen kindness.
Outside, the city kept its silent watch, hushed and unmoving beneath the hour.
For the first time in hours, Maggie felt safe.
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'ABOUT A MONTH LATER'
The morning air in Brooklyn carried a crisp, autumnal bite that nipped at the skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of the life Maggie had fled just a month prior.
Adam and Cherry Bloom had initially opened their doors to Maggie for a single night, a gesture of fleeting charity. However, that night turned into a month. After Maggie narrated the harrowing details of her past— the sudden, terrifying onset of amnesia, the subsequent discovery of an abusive husband, and the psychological warfare of him bringing a stranger into their home under the so-called "Polygamous agreement contract" she had signed before losing her memories— the Blooms showed their kindness. They offered her their guestroom, a sanctuary where she could begin to heal and slowly find her footing.
It's Tuesday, 7:45 AM
The sun was a pale gold disc hanging over the brownstones as Maggie stepped out of the apartment onto the front porch of the Blooms. She turned, the key clicking home in the lock with a satisfying finality. As she descended the stairs toward the driveway, the now-familiar rumble of a 2017 white Toyota Highlander greeted her.
Adam Bloom, his face already etched with the patient exhaustion of a middle-school teacher, leaned across the center console and rolled down the passenger window. Cherry sat beside him, balancing a travel mug and a stack of graded papers, while twelve-year-old Grace peered out from the back, her headphones draped around her neck.
Adam honked twice, a friendly rhythm. "Get in, Maggie! We can drop you at Walmart before we head to the lions' den," he teased, referring to the school.
Maggie stopped, her hand clutching the strap of her backpack. A soft, genuine smile touched her lips— the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes yet, but was trying. "You don’t have to, sir. Truly. You offer every single morning, and I really do appreciate it."
"It’s no trouble at all," Adam insisted, his hands light on the steering wheel. "It’s right on the way, more or less."
Maggie shook her head gently, her hair catching the morning light. "No, thank you. Let me walk today. I don’t want to be a constant burden to you three. Besides, I actually enjoy the walk. It’s only fifteen minutes, and I need the fresh air to wake up."
Adam studied her for a second, seeing the quiet resolve in her posture. He nodded. "Alright, then. But the offer stands for tomorrow."
"Thank you," Maggie said, her voice warm.
"See you later!" Adam waved, shifting the car into reverse.
Cherry leaned toward the window, offering a bright, encouraging wave. "Have a good shift, Maggie! Don’t let the customers get to you!"
Grace gave a small, shy wave from the back as the Highlander backed out of the driveway and merged into the light Brooklyn traffic. Maggie watched them go until the red glow of their taillights vanished around the corner. She took a deep breath, adjusted her bag, and began the walk.
8:02 AM: Walmart
The fluorescent lights of Walmart hummed with a sterile energy. Maggie navigated the familiar path to the employee breakroom, the scent of industrial cleaner and stale coffee filling her senses. She pulled her navy blue vest from her bag, smoothed out the wrinkles, and slipped it over her shirt.
By 8:15 AM, she was behind the register. The rhythm was hypnotic: Scan. Bag. Total. Card.
Around mid-morning, a man in his late forties approached her lane. He looked tired, his eyes focused on the two chilled cans of Coke and a pack of peppermint gum he set on the belt.
"Is that all you’ll be getting today?" Maggie asked, her voice sliding into the polite, professional cadence she had perfected over the last few weeks.