I felt tears prick my eyes, but I didn’t want to cry in front of him. “That’s really beautiful,” I said quietly.
Marcos swallowed, gave me a small nod, and patted the doll’s shoulder. “Thanks. Anyway, since she’s not here physically, this is my way to still be with her. People look at me like I’m nuts, and I get it. Big guy with a baby doll. But it’s just… I promised her we’d keep doing our Saturdays, and, well, I’m keeping that promise the best I can.”
He looked at me then—really looked at me—and gave a slow nod. For a brief moment, I sensed a bit of relief in his eyes. Maybe he didn’t get that reaction a lot from strangers.
We ended up talking right there in the toy aisle for a good ten minutes. Turned out we had more in common than you’d think. Marcos had grown up in the same city I did, just in a different neighborhood. He’d been a high school football star until he hurt his knee, then eventually found work as a mechanic. The tattoos on his arms were mostly tributes to family, not prison or gang ink at all. His father’s name, his grandmother’s face, and a big one for his late daughter, Dani, spread across his right forearm. “This one is my favorite,” he said, showing me the swirl of bright flowers around her name. “She used to draw daisies and cats in my notebook all the time, so I put them on my arm forever.”
At some point, an older woman walked by and gave us a look like we were blocking the aisle. Marcos apologized politely, and we moved our carts to the side. “I’d better check out soon,” he said. “Got a busy day of errands, same routine as always.”
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