The faint scent of fresh books mixed with the chatter of excited customers as Henry Cross leaned against the counter of the bookstore. Today’s event—a “BookTok” thing or something—had been suggested by one of his younger employees. Henry didn’t get it, but he knew it was good for business. The store was more packed than it had been in months.

He watched as a group of teens flipped through novels, laughing and showing each other highlights from their phones. 'They make it look so easy', he thought, wondering when everything had become so complicated for him.

His ex-wife Emily’s voice still echoed in his mind. "You can’t even fold laundry right, Henry. No wonder David doesn’t listen to you." The memory felt like a punch to the gut, though it had been years since she had said it. The bruises she left were invisible, but they had never really healed.

He shifted his weight and tried to focus on the present—on the customers, the books, the sales—but it was hard to escape the shadow of his past. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bookstore window. The lines around his eyes were deeper now, his hair graying at the temples. 'When did I start looking so old?' he wondered.

Another wave of customers poured in, snapping him back to the moment. At least it’s a good day for sales, he thought, trying to push the past to the back of his mind.