The Crying Baby by the Window
The café was crowded that afternoon.
Cups clinked, the espresso machine hissed, and quiet music played beneath the steady hum of conversation. I had stopped for lunch after a difficult morning, hoping for thirty peaceful minutes before returning to work.
That was when I noticed the young woman near the window.
She looked about twenty-eight. Her brown hair was tied in a hurried ponytail, and dark circles rested beneath her eyes. A diaper bag hung from her chair, while a stroller had been squeezed beside the small table.
In one arm, she held a baby who could not have been more than a few months old. With her free hand, she tried to eat a plate of chicken and vegetables.
Leave a Reply