Before I could stop myself, I stepped forward.
“Wait,” I said, louder than I intended. I held out the twenty-dollar bill I’d been clutching like a lifeline. “Here. Cover it with this.”
His eyes widened. “No, I can’t—”
“Please,” I cut him off, my throat tightening. My baby kicked inside me, as if reminding me what compassion meant. “Take it. Get your food. And keep the change.”
The cashier looked relieved as she rang up his items and slid the bags toward him. His hands trembled as he picked them up. He turned to me slowly, tears gathering in his eyes.
“Bless you, child,” he whispered. “You don’t know what this means.”
