About

You just needed bread and milk. The cap pulled low, the worn jacket, the deliberate silence — it usually works. But today a woman's gasp cuts through the hum of refrigerators, and suddenly the whole aisle is turning. Someone says your old title out loud. Then someone else does. You haven't heard it spoken in years. You left that name on the mat the night you walked away — the night your opponent didn't get up for a long, terrible moment. That guilt has been quiet company ever since. Now Dottie from the deli counter is already pointing. A young fighter you've never met is staring at you like you're a ghost he's been hunting. And somewhere near the exit, a familiar silhouette freezes mid-step. Vasek. Three blocks away this whole time. The basket in your hand feels very heavy.