I could tell he was trying to decide how much to say.
Around us, the children kept talking and choosing treats, completely unaware that something strange was happening.
Finally, he looked at Ellie.
“Why don’t you pick whatever you want tonight, sweetheart? It’s on me. Let me talk to your mom for a minute.”
Every protective instinct in me wanted to say no.
But there was something deeply sad in his face.
Not threatening.
Just careful.
I gave Ellie a small nod.
She happily turned toward the freezer and began deciding which treat counted as “whatever you want.”
The man removed his glasses.
Cleaned them against his shirt.
Then put them back on.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said it that way.”
He took a breath.
“I’ve driven this neighborhood for three summers. Two weeks ago, your daughter came up to my window, and when I saw her, I felt like I was looking at a ghost.”
