A routine coffee run turned into something unforgettable when I was led to an abandoned stroller outside a shuttered storefront. What I found inside changed everything I thought I knew about fate, family, and second chances.
I’m Logan, a 32-year-old single police officer in the town I grew up in. So when a stroller appeared out of nowhere, I was the one who was told, and I promptly went to investigate.
What I discovered healed my old wounds and changed my life for the better.
Everyone around here knows me, or at least they think they do. To most, I’m the “reliable” and “dedicated” guy, the one who shows up early, stays late, and answers calls even on his days off. I keep my uniform pressed, I smile at the elderly when I’m on patrol, and I never write up a teenager for being out past curfew unless he’s doing something truly dumb.
But under that steady exterior, my personal life is… well, it’s something else.
Five years ago, my marriage ended.
And not because of some dramatic affair or ugly fight, but because we wanted different lives.
Laura, my ex-wife, never wanted children; I always did. That simple difference grew into something we couldn’t work around. We tried therapy, time apart, every compromise you could imagine, but the truth was always the same—I wanted to be a father, and she wanted freedom.
Eventually, she walked, and I let her go.
Since then, I’ve filled my nights with volunteer shifts at the youth center, long bike rides after dark, and silent dinners in a too-quiet apartment. Anything to distract myself from the quiet apartment I came home to each night.
One crisp Saturday morning, I decided to take a slower start to the day. The autumn air was sharp but refreshing, so I zipped up my jacket and headed to the café, my favorite one, which I’d practically adopted as a second home.
It was one of those cozy places with steamed-up windows, soft music, and a smell that could lift your spirit no matter what kind of week you’d had.
The smell of fresh coffee hit me instantly when I entered, and I felt almost normal for the first time that week.
“Morning, Chris, the usual, please,” I said, tugging off my gloves.
Chris, the guy behind the counter with a mop of curly hair and a sarcastic streak a mile wide, grinned and nodded. He was a cheerful barista who always tried to lift my spirits. “Coming right up, officer of the month.”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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