They Said I’d Be a Bachelor Forever — Until the Day I Gave a Sandwich to a Woman Everyone Else Ignored

The Man Everyone Pitted with Loneliness

When I turned thirty-six, the whispers began to follow me like shadows.

“He’s not married yet?”
“At that age? Must be something wrong with him.”
“Guess he’ll die alone with his chickens.”

In our small Midwestern town, where everyone knew everyone’s business, being unmarried past thirty was practically a scandal. But truthfully, I had made peace with solitude.

I owned a small home on the edge of town, tended to my vegetable garden, raised a few hens, and spent my evenings reading on the porch. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was quiet — and I thought that was enough.

Until one cold afternoon at the farmer’s market changed everything.

The Woman in the Worn Coat

I was packing up vegetables when I noticed her near the parking lot — a thin woman sitting quietly against the wall, clutching an old bag. Her coat was frayed, her shoes worn through, but her eyes — clear, gentle, and unbearably sad — stopped me in my tracks.

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