I bought a bag of apples for a mother with two small kids — and three days later, a police officer came into my workplace asking for me by name. I’m a 43-year-old woman working morning shifts at a grocery store. Saturdays are always overwhelming — carts everywhere, babies crying, people stressed. That morning, a woman my age stepped into my checkout line with two children glued to her sleeves. The younger boy was sleepy. The older one kept staring at the apples in their cart like he hadn’t seen

The phone rang before dawn, its sound slicing through the silent house. When I saw Danny’s name appear on the screen, my stomach tightened. My grandson never called that early — not unless something was wrong. “Grandma?” His voice trembled like he was trying not to cry. “Danny, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” I asked, sitting up. “Grandma, please… don’t wear your red coat today.” For a second, I thought I hadn’t heard him right. “My coat? Why not?” “Please, just don’t. Promise me,” he said, his