I expected nothing remarkable from that day. It was supposed to be forgettable, one more routine grocery run wedged between responsibilities, the kind that dissolves into the blur of an ordinary week. The parking lot was packed, shopping carts clattered against each other, and the automatic doors sighed open and closed without ceremony. Inside, the store buzzed with the usual noise—scanner beeps, distant conversations, an overhead announcement no one bothered to understand. I drifted through the aisles on autopilot, checking items off my list, mentally rehearsing everything waiting for me at home. By the time I reached self-checkout, my attention...
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