What the Napkin Really Said
That night, I thought the napkin was a warning.
It wasn’t.
It was a record of everyone who gave up—
and proof of the few who didn’t.
I used to think life divided neatly into good and bad.
Now I know the line runs through every one of us.
Sometimes the scariest people are the ones brave enough to walk into the dark carrying a light.
Sometimes, the family you need finds you in a fluorescent diner at midnight.
And sometimes, when the bell over the door shrieks—
it isn’t a warning.
It’s a call for the cavalry.
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