For nearly a decade, Jenny Millers lived an ordinary life in an ordinary Kansas town. At twenty-nine, she worked as a waitress at Rosie’s Diner, a narrow little place squeezed between a laundromat and a hardware store. Each morning, she tied her faded apron around her waist, filled her coffee pot, and greeted the handful of early customers with a practiced smile.

To her customers, Jenny was cheerful, dependable, always ready with a refill. But outside the clatter of plates and the aroma of frying bacon, her life was quiet. Too quiet. Her parents had passed away when she was still a teenager, and the aunt who raised her had long since moved across the country. Jenny rented a small apartment above the pharmacy. Her neighbors hardly knew her name.

Ezoic
Life moved in steady, lonely rhythm. That was, until the morning she noticed a boy sitting alone in the corner booth.

The Boy in the Corner
He couldn’t have been more than ten. Every day, at precisely 7:15 a.m., he slipped into the same booth by the window. His backpack sagged heavily against the seat, and a worn paperback sat open in front of him. He never ordered more than a glass of water.

Jenny watched him for days. Always the same. A small nod when she brought the water, a faint “thank you,” then silence. He stayed forty minutes and left, vanishing into the stream of children heading toward school.

Ezoic
On the fifteenth day, Jenny’s heart got the better of her. She carried a plate of pancakes to his table and set it down with a smile.

“Oh dear,” she said lightly. “The kitchen made an extra. Better for you to eat it than throw it away.”

The boy hesitated, eyes darting from the plate to her face. Then hunger overcame hesitation. Ten minutes later, not a crumb was left.

Ezoic
“Thank you,” he whispered.