He kept seeing the same silver Jeep at Walmart—same far-row spot, same cracked rear window, week after week. People joked, “Someone lives in that thing.” He laughed with them, until one night the joke stopped being funny.
It was freezing. He loaded groceries, glanced over, and saw a blanket hung across the back seat like a curtain.
He walked over, phone half-raised, and tapped the glass.
A child’s voice answered, almost soundless. “Please… don’t tell him I’m here.
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