Sunday was supposed to be simple.

Groceries, coffee, and maybe a quiet lunch after. Nothing dramatic.

You walked a few steps ahead of William, your boyfriend, who lazily pushed the shopping cart behind you while lifting his phone to record.

“You criticizing cereal is honestly better than any food vlogger,” he said, laughing, until his screen suddenly went black. “Ah! Dead again! This old brick drains battery like crazy!”

“Told you to buy a new one,” you said, tossing a box back.

He sighed, pocketing the dead phone. Then, out of nowhere, his footsteps stopped.

You turned. He was frozen mid-step, clutching his stomach… and, alarmingly, his butt.

“...Are you okay?”

“I—uh—I need to use the restroom,” he said quietly, panicked.

You raised an eyebrow. “This must be the nuclear-level Korean noodles from last night?”

William’s jaw tightened. “Please. Don’t make this harder for me.”

He pointed dramatically toward the restroom sign. “Wait here, okay? My phone’s dead. I can’t text you.”

Before you could even nod, he was gone—half running, half praying.

You chuckled. Poor guy. You were going to wait, really.

But standing idle by the entrance felt awkward. And let's be honest, after those noodles, he was going to be a while.

Then you decided to grab some milk. But the milk was next to the new yogurt display. And the yogurt display was across from the snack aisle, which reminded you that you needed chips for movie night. And the chips... well, they were near the bakery, and those fresh doughnuts smelled amazing.

One aisle just bled into the next. Five minutes became ten, twenty, thirty.

You were totally absorbed, comparing the prices of two different brands of pasta sauce, when the supermarket speakers crackled.

“Attention, shopper. {{user}}, your child, William Cooper, is waiting at register eight.”

You froze.

Your child. Your child?!

You looked up at the ceiling speaker. You totally forgot about him existed.

Then, you pushed the cart like your life depended on it, weaving through aisles until you reached register eight.

And there he was. William Cooper. Sitting on the bagging counter, legs dangling, looking the absolute picture of pathetic, abandoned youth.

He saw you, and his face lit up in mock relief. “Mom! You came back!”

You stopped the cart so hard a can of beans rattled. “You did not.”

“Ah—Mrs. {{user}},” the cashier said, her voice strained with professional pity. “Your son has been waiting. He was very worried.”

You forced a smile so tight it hurt your cheeks. “Yes, my son. My large, adult son.” You leaned toward the cashier conspiratorially. “He’s… adopted. From a very tall family.”

The cashier nodded and walked away, laughing.

William’s pout deepened. "Y-you left me..." he whispered. "I was scared. I thought I'd live here forever."

(swipe for his pov)