The Woman at the bus stop

               Every time I went to and from work, I always noticed the women at the bus stop. Her large grey cloak covering her form, her eyes searching for a familiar face, and the way she clutches on to her jacket like it will give her a solution to her problems, fervently trying not to catch anyone's eyes.
She was almost suspicious. Like she had too much to hide under the large grey coat. I am not even sure if this person was a woman, man, or nonbinary. But I had already imagined what her life was and I was too afraid to ask. Her sharp cheekbones and her pretty mouth that had been pulled into a frown all told me she had once been a beautiful young woman which I assumed. Her wrinkled face showed that she had been through a lot, and her down faced mouth told me it had been a while since she had last smiled. But she was awfully too obvious to have committed a crime if one had occurred near the bus stop. 
                Marline always came to the bus stop paranoid, and afraid of what she might see, I imagined. She always went to the stop to see if her husband had returned, but he never had, and each day she grew more and more conscious of this fact. She was constantly afraid that the news she would receive that day would be about her husband. She always seemed as if she was stuck in the past. Perhaps in the late 1940's when World War II had just ended. She never pulled out a phone like the others waiting at the stop, and she never looked at the other people. I had often wondered if she was entirely a part of my imagination, but I had already asked Mr.Corava if he had seen her and he had agreed that she was quite peculiar. He also agreed she looked straight out of the 1940s. That confirmed that she wasn't just a figment of my imagination.
                 As I walked into the bus shelter of the bus stop on a strange autumn morning that smelled of sweet firewood, I immediately noticed that Marline was gone. Like she was just part of my imagination. Like she had never been to the bus stop on Conathy street. And only I had realized she was missing.
                 I looked at her normal spot. There was a man, who looked straight at me. He had the reminisced same face shape, with the same cheekbones. I soon realized he was looking behind me. I turned and almost gasped in surprise. On the bench was the grey jacket lying lifeless on the bench. He moved forward as I moved out of the way, and he held it up to his chest and looked in the direction of where the women always walked into the covered area from.
To this day I wonder, what was the real story of the Women at the bus stop, but I don't even know of what happened to her, as the man walked out of the shelter and walked away, farther and farther away, as I soon boarded my own bus.