He had been observing her from the end of aisle since she entered the store. She looks so different now, he thought he might have been wrong. Maybe it was the gait, or the way she bobbed her head left and right ever so subtly that confirmed his suspicion. He continued to observe her from afar, his heartbeat quickening with her footsteps. 20 metres. 10 metres. 3 metres. He only noticed the baby when she paused to look at something on the dried goods shelf, her petite body perfectly shielded by the oversized stroller. Stooping slightly, he smiled and waved at the child, who only noticed him after awhile and stared back. An older gentleman approached the man to ask for a sample, abruptly interrupting the pair’s mini game. By the time he finished serving the gentleman, who decided that he did not like what he tried, she had already past his stand, a pack of coarse sugar in the green basket she hung on the left side of the pram. He panicked momentarily, wondering what he should do. Then, he did something he never once did since he started at this job.
“Sample for you?”, a voice called out from behind her.
At first she continued walking, but gradually she stopped. Not because she wanted a sample, but because she recognised that voice. In reality, she was barely paying any attention to her surroundings, guiding the stroller through the aisles with her mind elsewhere. Work had been consuming her life lately, and today her superior finally allowed her the afternoon off to spend time with her newborn. A noise escaped the carriage, and she leaned over to see her baby fussing over his new toy. The little one was getting restless. She checked her watch—it’s close to noon, almost nap time. Despite not being able to see the man, she could sense him still waiting expectantly for her response. Seconds passed as she stood there, searching her memories for the voice’s owner. She was about to leave when he repeated his question.
“Would you like a sample?”, he asked, this time softer but still firm.
Slowly, she turned around and looked at the man. A familiar stature in a garish uniform held out a paper cup with both hands, staring back. In the instant their eyes met, they knew who each other were. Neither had expected to see the other person again, much less in a grocery store.
After a period of silence, the man spoke once more.
“How have you been?”
He knew it was her before she even turned around. How could he not? For years the guilt had been eating him inside out, evolving into nightmares that kept him awake sometimes. The new therapist he saw regularly had helped to alleviate this problem, though he was told that full recovery may take a very long time, possibly never. He was okay with this news, because he felt like he deserved it. Now, seeing her stand in front of him with her newborn child, his heart gripped tightly as though he was in pain. He wanted to congratulate her, to tell her how happy he was to see her doing so well, but knew he could not do so recklessly. The seconds felt like eternity, and he could vaguely sense that she was uncomfortable. This was his only chance. He had to say something.
When she finally turned to face the man, she fought the natural instinct to step back. In that split moment, memories from the past came flooding back, overwhelming her with emotions she thought had already been long gone. She blinked forcefully, fists clenched into tight balls that turned her knuckles white and red. At once, the lights appeared unusually bright, sending her into vertigo. She only regained her senses when a woman brushed past her, a reminder that she is safe in a public space. This was a person she never wanted to see again. When he spoke to her once more, her stomach churned. So many years have past without the thought of him. Why today? Why now?
The flinch was subtle, but the man noticed it immediately. Despite it being a simple question, she did not—could not—give an answer. The man contemplated to repeat his question, but decided otherwise. He placed the paper cup back onto the stand, careful to keep a safe distance lest he scared her away. The woman appeared to be in a daze, swaying ever so slightly as though an invisible gust was pushing her. Her baby cooed loudly, prompting the woman to check on him. After a bout of quiet soothing, she stood quickly and pushed the stroller forward, desperate to get away from the man.
Seeing this, the man moved hastily towards them, his right arm outstretched to block the woman’s path.
“Wait, please,” he said, distress evident in his tone.
The woman paused. Their eyes met, and she saw in them misery not unlike hers in the past. This man was remorseful.
God is fair.
This was the first thought she had when she saw him up close. Under the cool lights, his eyes appeared almost sunken in, dark rings framing the set. The man's complexion was deathly pale, the contrast made even more stark in his brightly-coloured uniform. He looked as if he has not slept or eaten in days. She wondered how this man managed to land a job at the grocery store with his sickly appearance. It was in this moment that she realised something. This man before her cannot harm her anymore. Suddenly, she felt immensely powerful. She was no longer afraid.
Even though he could hardly contain his feelings, he waited patiently for her to say something back. He felt a pit in his stomach, like a black hole was opening up to swallow him whole. In his dreams, he had religiously rehearsed his apology many times, but no matter the time and place, each always ended in failure. Deep down, he knew he would never be forgiven, yet he continued to hope. Against his therapist’s advice, he had stubbornly refused to allow himself happiness, seeking instead to punish himself whenever a chance arose. He would gladly offer to work back-to-back shifts to cover for sick colleagues and give whatever he had left each month to charity. Because of this, he became a well-liked man among coworkers and neighbours, but he was never happy. He simply cannot be.
Convinced that the woman was no longer opposed to his presence, the man finally let his arm down. At this point, he appeared almost tired, face ashen and defeated. For a moment, it seemed as if the man would just turn around and go back to his post, accepting his fate without protest. But he was determined—the man had been praying for this chance encounter for years. He would never forgive himself if he did not at least try.
“I’m sorry,” the man said weakly, voice so low it was almost a whisper. “I… I saw you and I– I can’t believe it’s really you– I tried looking for you but I couldn’t find you.” At this, the man’s gaze fell upon the child in the stroller, fast asleep with the toy in his embrace. “I guess this is also for the best.”
The man paused momentarily, giving the woman a chance to say something. When she said nothing, he continued, somewhat sheepishly, “I’m sorry for what I did. There’s no excuse, I’m– I took a long time to realise that I did things without ever thinking about the hurt I caused you. It must have been so hard to live like that. It’s– I fucked up. I’m so sorry.” An elderly gentleman walking past heard the expletive and turned around, brows furrowed in disapproval. The woman flashed the older man a weak smile to reassure him that there was no cause for concern. This seemed to work and the old man left them alone.
Keeping his head bowed down, the man went on, “I’ve been seeing a therapist. He taught me a lot of things I never knew. I– You were right to go to the police. I want you to know that I deserve every punishment given to me in this life. You did nothing wrong. You had no other choice.” The man choked up a little but managed to hold back his tears, “I’m so sorry.”
Then, when it seemed like the man was finally done, he asked a question he never thought he would ever be able to ask out loud.
“Will you forgive me?”
It was as if his doppelgänger had appeared before her instead. Seeing this man in front of her, she could scarcely believe that they were the same person from her past. Now, a genuine gentleness exuded naturally from the man, calming her anxious heart from within. She looked up and gazed into the eyes of a once-menacing man asking sincerely for her forgiveness. What would happen if she refused? Will he turn into the devil again?
Her eyes flitted to the man’s trembling hands. In another life, she might never have been afraid of them. She thought about how she felt then, the fleeting moments of happiness overshadowed by periods of abject misery and loneliness. Never again.
She has her answer.
Only now did he notice the scars on her left arm. The slashes ran haphazardly across, some intentionally crisscrossing while others looked more like accidental nicks, lines so short and faint you had to pay close attention to spot them. His heart lurched at the sight of it, each cut intensifying his guilt into a ball threatening to clog his already parched throat. He counted them quickly—9 cuts in total, his eyes fixated on the scars like a crime scene he could not take his eyes off of. Subconsciously he pinched his forearm—hard—and felt the pain course through his veins. He felt better instantly, but immediately chided himself for even thinking for a moment that this pain could ever be compared to hers. Never again.
The answer to his question had never been as clear.
Just then, the announcement bell sounded over the intercom, dragging the pair back into reality.
“All staff on duty please report to the staff room immediately. Thank you.”
Despite the announcement, the man did not move. He stood firmly, hands clasped in front of him as if in a silent prayer. Nearby, shoppers stepped cautiously around them, vaguely aware of something happening but unsure if they should intervene. A few gave the woman a reassuring nod as they past.
The announcement sounded once more. When it ended, he spoke again.
“Please, will you wait here for me?”
The woman said nothing. Deep down, the man knew there was nothing more he could say that would change things.
Silently, he left.
By the time the briefing was done, the woman was nowhere to be seen. The man searched frantically around the grocery store, desperate to catch sight of her and her newborn. For the second time, she was gone.
The man returned to his work station. He was about to throw the cold samples away when he noticed a small note peeking out from a corner of the chopping board. He pulled it out and unfolded it.
Three words were scribbled onto the note. The man whispered them to himself over and over, sobbing quietly.
author’s note
Forgiveness is a very tricky thing. It’s not something you can simply demand or request for. The process takes time—tons of it—as well as an intentional resolve to acknowledge and let go of the past. As the saying goes, to forgive is to forget.
This story was written to explore the asymmetrical relationship between the forgiver and the forgiven. We observe the shift in power as the ex-aggressor (the man) becomes incapacitated and imprisoned by his own guilt while the victim (the woman) makes a conscious decision to let go of her past, turning her fear into strength. In the end, both are in a better place, but neither can say that they have won in the process.
Both acts of seeking and bestowing forgiveness requires immense courage. I hope this story gives you the strength you need to come to peace with your past and present.
