knew I was cutting it close. Work ran late—another last-minute repair—but I had promised my kids I’d be at their school gathering. So I rushed straight there, still in my grease-stained uniform, hands rough, smelling like motor oil.
The second I walked in, I felt the stares. Other dads in crisp button-downs, moms in dresses, people whispering. And then, I saw her. My wife.
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