Every day, I sat on the same park bench, pretending I was just another old man passing time. In truth, I was waiting for something I’d lost long ago. My routine never changed — oatmeal with carrots, Sinatra on the record player, and a slow walk to the park. People thought I was just lonely, but that bench held memories. It was where Clara and I once sat together, back when life was full of laughter.
One rainy morning, a little girl appeared, cheerful and kind. She noticed my shivering hands and placed her jacket across my lap. Her name was Leah, and something about the coat tugged at my heart. Inside the collar was stitched a gold “C” beside a small oak leaf — the very design Clara once wore. For the first time in years, my quiet world felt shaken awake. I had to know where the jacket came from.
