A Quiet Café on a Cold Night
It was one of those evenings where the wind bites at your face and the cold seems to seep into your bones. The café was warm inside, the scent of fresh bread mixing with roasted coffee, a haven against the dark.
Two men had come in together, both middle-aged, both carrying the look of people who had seen better days. They ordered generously—sandwiches, hot meals, drinks. For a small café, their bill ran into several hundred dollars. Still, they were polite, even friendly. They spoke quietly to each other and seemed grateful for the warmth and food.
A Coworker’s Tears
At first, I didn’t notice. It was my coworker, Mia, who stood frozen by the counter, her eyes on the unpaid bill. She was a single mother, juggling two jobs just to keep her little boy clothed and fed. Every dollar counted. And now, staring at a bill that large with no payment in sight, she looked as though the weight of the world had just been dropped onto her shoulders.
Her eyes filled with tears. Not because she was angry, but because the unfairness of it all landed on her like a blow.
Something inside me stirred at that moment. I couldn’t just stand by. Without thinking, I rushed out into the freezing night, the door banging shut behind me. My breath came out in quick white clouds, and I could barely feel my fingers as I ran down the street.
