I felt my cheeks warm. “Of course. It was nice to learn a little about your daughter. She sounds like she was an amazing kid.”
He nodded, eyes scanning the lot for a moment before they settled on me again. “She was. And, hey, I know it’s short notice, but if you ever want to come by the garage where I work, I’d be happy to give your car a free tune-up or something. I’d like to return the kindness somehow.”
“Yeah,” he said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then he adjusted the baby doll’s hood again. “Dani says that would be nice.” There was an undeniable sweetness in his voice, and I realized how wrong I had been to judge him by his looks alone.
We parted ways, and I couldn’t stop thinking about our meeting all day. It dawned on me that you never really know what someone is carrying around inside. Marcos was carrying grief, love, and devotion to his daughter, all wrapped up in one simple baby doll. It reminded me that outward appearances can be so misleading. Sometimes, the toughest-looking people have the gentlest hearts, shaped by experiences most of us can’t imagine.
Over the next few months, I popped by the garage a couple times. Marcos was always busy, but he’d wave me over, introduce me to his coworkers. The doll was never with him there—he joked that engine grease wouldn’t be good for her pink hoodie—but it was clear that Dani was still close to his heart. She had changed him in the most profound way, and even in her absence, she was teaching him how to love better, how to keep going when every part of you wants to stay stuck in the past.
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