excitement and a hint of nervousness, eager to tell Megan all about it. But as I approached my favorite table by the window, the perfect spot to wait for Megan, my phone buzzed with a text: “Running late. Traffic’s a nightmare. Don’t let anyone steal our spot!” Before I could even respond, a sudden shove from behind nearly knocked me over.
My elbow painfully collided with the edge of the table as I struggled to steady myself. “Excuse me,” a sharp voice cut through the café’s warm ambiance, jarring me from my thoughts. “We need these seats.”I turned to see a woman glaring at me, two children at her side. Her perfectly styled hair and designer handbag screamed privilege, but the icy look in her eyes sent a chill down my spine. “I’m sorry,” I began, trying to keep my tone polite.
