That’s when I saw him. A towering man in a leather vest, kneeling in the ditch, lifting something small and fragile with the kind of care you’d use to hold glass. He wrapped it in a blue-and-white striped towel and cradled it against his chest like it was precious.
The tenderness in his movements stopped me cold. I pulled over without thinking. I had to know what could make a man like that cry.
“Is he okay?” I asked, stupidly.Continue reading…