“We run a small shelter for homeless families,” she explained. “Mostly women and kids. Hygiene supplies are always the first thing to run out.”
The second woman leaned forward. “Hotels replace these items constantly. Sometimes they’re thrown away, barely used. We realized a long time ago that if we asked kindly, we could collect enough to last months.”
“We travel between cities,” the first continued, “staying in one place long enough to gather supplies. Then we take everything back and distribute it. Soap, shampoo, toothpaste—things people don’t think about until they don’t have them.”
Lina felt the tension drain from her shoulders. The towering stacks no longer looked excessive or strange. They looked purposeful. Necessary. Quietly generous.
All the small requests suddenly rearranged themselves in her mind. The extra shampoo. The polite smiles. The gratitude that never felt performative. This wasn’t convenience. It was intention.
“I hope we didn’t cause any trouble,” one of the women added. “We always make sure it’s within policy.”
Lina shook her head, emotion tightening her throat. “No. Not at all.” Continue reading…
