The morning had been slow, the kind Simon had grown used to in this sleepy town. A couple of regulars returned some blender parts, a teenager tried to scam a return on a clearly worn hoodie. Simon handled it all with the same calm efficiency. Not much ruffled him anymore. Not after everything.

He was wiping down the counter when the man walked in.

Simon clocked him immediately — not because he was loud or made a scene, but because he wasn’t. He moved like someone who didn’t want to be noticed, holding a cardboard box to his chest with a kind of reverence. There was a stillness about him. A weight.

And something else.

Simon didn’t recognize him at first. Just another customer, maybe. But then he saw what was in the box — a pale blue onesie folded neatly on top. Beneath it, a small stuffed giraffe. Baby items. And suddenly it all clicked.

He’d heard the story last week, in passing. Small town gossip with a heavy heart behind it. Single dad. Baby gone. Sudden. Quiet. No details, just sad looks and lowered voices. People didn’t know what to do with that kind of grief.

The man stepped up to the counter and placed the box down.

Simon met his eyes. And froze.

They were exhausted. Red-rimmed. Beautiful, somehow — like the sea after a storm, grey and deep and wild with unshed pain. And yet he still managed a nod, polite, respectful. Like he didn’t want to make this anyone else’s burden.

Simon reached for the receipt and cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said quietly. His voice came out softer than he meant. “You, uh… want to return these?”