“Take your time, honey, the world isn’t going anywhere.” That was the last thing my mother ever said to me. She was sitting on her porch, nursing a cup of lukewarm tea, her eyes tracking a bird that was dipping in and out of the oak tree.

She looked so peaceful. I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw her alive. I just kissed her forehead, waved, and drove off to handle the rest of the day.

I ended up driving way too far that afternoon. The funeral had been a blur of black clothes and hushed voices. By the time I hit that Waffle House off I-40, it was well past midnight. I was exhausted, the kind of tired that gets deep into your bones. I pulled into the lot, the neon sign buzzing like a trapped insect in the cold November air. I just wanted a cup of coffee and a booth where nobody would ask me how I was holding up.

I sat there for a long time. The place was mostly empty, just me and a few truckers in the back corner. I ordered eggs and toast, barely tasted them. I just kept staring at the Formica tabletop, tracing the little scratches in the laminate. I remember thinking about how fast everything can just evaporate. One day someone is there, and the next, they are just a memory you hold onto while you wait for your eggs to get cold.

When the check came, I didn’t even look at the total. I just reached into my purse, pulled out what I thought was a twenty, and laid it down. I wanted to be generous, I guess. Or maybe I just wanted to leave the sadness on that table and walk away.

I didn’t check the bill. I just stood up, threw on my coat, and walked out into the dark. I didn’t realize until I got home that I had left two hundred dollars. It was two bills stuck together, both hundreds, not twenties.

I sat on my bed for an hour staring at my purse. I thought about driving back, but it was three in the morning and I was spent. I told myself I would call them later. Then, life just kept rolling along. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and I never did call. I let it go. I moved on. I figured the waitress probably thought I was crazy or just rich, and eventually, the guilt of not calling stopped bothering me.

Twenty-five years went by in a blink.