A Reply From a Stranger
My hands shook as I picked it up.
“Are you okay? Is this an emergency?”
Relief washed over me—followed instantly by fear.
I typed as fast as my trembling fingers would allow.
“I’m sorry, sir. I sent this by mistake. My baby brother needs milk. My mom can pay you back on the fifth.”
Every second stretched unbearably long.
My brother, worn out from crying, began sucking on his own hand. His eyelids fluttered.
The phone buzzed again.
“Where are you, Emma?”
My stomach dropped.
My mom’s voice echoed in my head, warnings she had drilled into me my whole life.
Never tell strangers where you live.
Never.
But my brother couldn’t wait five days.
I typed our address anyway, each letter feeling heavier than the last.
Then I closed my eyes and prayed—quietly, honestly—that this time I hadn’t made another mistake.
