Il ne resta bientôt plus que l’homme au volant, seul face à sa conscience et à ces paroles qui continuaient de résonner.
Une transformation silencieuse mais profonde
The next day, everything seemed the same: the coffee in his thermos, the posted schedule, the usual route. Still, something in him had changed. Throughout his rounds, he scrutinized the faces at the stops, hoping to meet her eyes again. To apologize. Or simply to hear it.
Seven days later, as he was finishing his last rotation, he spotted him near the flea market. Same curved silhouette, same wicker basket. He stopped short, opened the doors and approached.
"Grandma... I beg your pardon. I was wrong that day.
