So I grabbed my bag, slid on my beat-up sneakers, and drove to my supermarket, the one constant in my chaotic little life.
Inside, the lights were harsh and buzzing, the music soft and weirdly upbeat for midnight.
There were maybe three other shoppers wandering around in that half-dazed, late-night way.
I did my usual route—bread, fruit, milk, cereal, something salty I’d regret later—and headed to the self-checkout.
I scanned everything, bagged it, and then reached into my purse for my wallet.
My hand met keys, an old crumpled receipt, a half-melted crayon…no wallet.
That cold, sinking feeling hit me.
I checked again, like maybe it would magically appear if I looked hard enough.
It didn’t.
In that instant, I could see my wallet sitting on the kitchen counter where I’d dropped it after buying gas earlier.
Heat flushed up my neck.
A cashier at the nearby register, a guy I recognized from other nights, glanced over.
His name tag said “Luis.”
“Everything okay?” he called.
“I, uh…forgot my wallet,” I said, trying to laugh it off while my stomach twisted. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just void this and put everything back.”
I started lifting bags off the tiny metal scale, already mentally mapping the store so I could return everything to its exact spot, like that would somehow make up for existing.
Luis walked over before I could finish.
“Hang on,” he said.
He checked the screen, then looked at my bags.
Without making it dramatic, he pulled out his wallet, took out a card, and slid it into the reader.
“No,” I blurted.
“No, please don’t do that. I can come back tomorrow. Really.”
His coworker at the main register frowned over………….
