Then I saw her.
A woman sat under a bare maple tree near the cart return. No coat. Hands trembling. Eyes fixed on the concrete. People walked past, pretending not to notice. Something inside me tightened.
I approached slowly. She tensed.
“I’m not here to bother you,” I said softly. “You just look cold.”
Her eyes flicked up—tired, wary. I slipped off my jacket and held it out.
“You need this more than I do.”
She didn’t thank me at first. She just clutched the jacket like it might disappear. I handed her a grocery bag, scribbled my address on the pie box, and murmured, “If you need help, I’m Eric.”
A tiny whispered thank you and I walked away. That night, I lied to Sarah over video, pretending I’d eaten a proper meal. But I couldn’t stop wondering—was she warm? Did she have somewhere safe to go? Eventually, I told myself I had done enough.
Two years passed.Continue reading…
