The Ribbon at the Ashland Bus Station

November 1998, Ashland, Ohio. I was waiting for the last bus when I saw her for the first time—a woman in a gray coat, tying a red ribbon to an empty bench. She did it every night for a week, never speaking, never looking at me. The station manager said no one named Margaret lived here, and the bench had not been used in years. But the ribbon stayed. And when I finally touched it, I understood why she never came back. A slow-burn story about the things we leave behind, and the places that remember them longer than we do.

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