I saw her every night at the bar. When I arrived for my shift, she’d always have been there a good couple of hours. Every day was the same: we’d start off with the pleasantries and she’d order another rum and coke. By her fourth or fifth, her dark eyes would turn glassy. “I used to have a little brother, you know,” she’d say quietly, as if to herself, tugging on her sleeves as she spoke. But on none of those nights did I ever have the courage to tell her that I did know. And I was standing right here.
— Lauren Bowers