That was it.
I stood up and walked over to him. “Excuse me. I need to talk to you.”
He looked down at me, unimpressed. “And you are?”
“I’m the daughter of the woman you’ve been tormenting for weeks. I’ve been watching you, and frankly, your behavior is disgusting.”
He sneered. “What are you going to do about it?”
“To start,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “I’m going to tell you why you’re doing this. You’re not mad at my mom. You’re mad at yourself. You’re bitter, and your anger is misdirected at her. She’s kind and full of life, and that reminds you of everything you’ve lost.”
His face turned red. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough,” I said, stepping closer. “You lost your wife a few months ago, didn’t you?”
His expression faltered, and I knew I had hit the mark.
“She was the one who put up with you, wasn’t she?” I continued. “Now you’re taking out your grief on someone who’s just trying to do her job.”
He didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, and without another word, he stormed out of the café.
For a couple of days, I didn’t see him. I thought he’d found another place to go. But on the third day, he walked in again.
The café grew quiet.
He approached my mom’s section and, to everyone’s surprise, pulled a bouquet of yellow daisies from behind his back.
“These are for you,” he said softly, almost shyly.
My mom hesitated, the flour from baking pastries still dusting her apron.
He cleared his throat. “Your daughter was right,” he said, his voice shaking. “I lost my wife three months ago. She was the only person who understood me. Now, I’m so alone… I’m angry at the world. But when I see you, with your kindness and your energy, it reminds me of her. She was always so sunny.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. My wife would’ve been ashamed of me. I’m ashamed of myself.”
The whole café held its breath.
Mom looked at him for a long moment before gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I understand,” she said softly. “Life isn’t always easy, and sometimes when we’re hurting, we forget to be kind. But I forgive you.”
These days, he still comes to the café every morning. But now, instead of complaints, he and Mom talk about old music, share stories of favorite movies, and sometimes just enjoy each other’s company in comfortable silence.
Yesterday, I even heard him laugh—a rusty sound, like a door creaking open after a long winter.
As for my mom? She’s smiling again, the way she used to. Real smiles that reach her eyes.
She told me last week, “Sometimes, the people who need kindness the most are the ones who seem to deserve it the least.”
That’s my mom for you—always finding the light, even in the darkest places.