They Told Me the $7,000 Repair Bill Was My Pr0blem, but They Weren’t Ready for What I Did Next

I never wanted one.

Every morning at 6:30, when I unlock the garage, I look up at that crooked sign.

And I remember exactly why I’m there.

My name is Craig.

I’m thirty-eight.

I’ve been fixing cars since I was fourteen, when my uncle started letting me hang around his shop in Dayton, Ohio, handing him tools.

I met Laura when I was twenty-three.

She worked at a coffee shop across from the dealership where I was a mechanic.

I started buying a large black coffee every morning even though I didn’t need it.

Mostly because I liked hearing her laugh.