Outside, the rain roared like applause. The delivery truck idled by the gate, its driver fully occupied with paperwork and a radio. Jonah jerked the rear door open and squeezed into the dark cargo hold, the scent of diesel and cardboard wrapping around him like a cloak. He curled between crates of institutional supplies and thought of his daughter for the first time without the sour tang of panic. She would be asleep in her room, drawing crayon suns on paper, feeling no different from any night before—but in a few hours, when the old man at the bus stop who liked to read maps looked twice, she might find a new favorite story waiting on the porch: a man who came back.
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