“But Dad! Me and Carly want chocolate milk,” Timothy whined, tugging on Dale’s hand.
With an exasperated sigh, Dale brought the shopping cart to a halt in the middle of the freezer aisle. He hated chocolate milk, and didn’t want Timothy drinking it. He considered giving the boy another lecture on the nutritional benefits of the whole milk over chocolate, but decided against it. It wasn’t worth the trouble of negotiating with a five year old. There are some things children just don’t understand. He decided to compromise and get the two percent.
Reaching for the door handle, Dale froze. Staring back at him on the other side of the glass was Timothy, smiling back at him. A younger photo of him, of course. Back when he had his natural hair color, before Dale dyed it black. The bold red lettering printed on the carton twisted his stomach into knots.
