For nearly a decade, Jenny Millers lived a quiet life in a small Kansas town. At twenty-nine, she worked at Rosie’s Diner, the kind of narrow little place tucked between a laundromat and a hardware store. Every morning she tied her apron, filled her coffee pot, and greeted the handful of regulars with her usual gentle smile.
To her customers, Jenny was dependable and cheerful. But when the clatter of dishes faded, her life was still and lonely. Her parents had passed when she was young, and her aunt — the woman who raised her — lived far away. Jenny rented a modest apartment above the pharmacy. Few neighbors even knew her name.
Her life was steady, almost invisible. Until the morning she noticed a boy sitting alone in the corner booth.
The Boy in the Corner
He couldn’t have been more than ten. Every morning at 7:15, he slipped quietly into the same booth. His backpack sagged, his head bent over a worn paperback. He never ordered more than a glass of water.
For days Jenny watched. He gave a polite nod when she set down the glass, a whispered “thank you,” then silence. He stayed forty minutes before disappearing into the crowd of kids heading to school.
Continue reading on next page…