The woman was there on the side of the quiet road.
She was hunched and clearly trying to stand, one knee on the pavement, trembling as if she’d fallen and couldn’t get up.
Her grocery bag had exploded — there were eggs cracked open on the blacktop, yolk mixing with the dirty slush, and an orange had rolled down into the ditch.
She looked… embarrassed. Not panicked or hurt.
I hesitated.
Kids like me don’t stop. We learn young that helping strangers draws attention. And attention, more often than not, means consequences.
But then she lifted her eyes, looked at me, and said, in this little voice barely a whisper, “Sweetheart… could you help me?”
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