“Please,” she whispered. “I just need a little bread. I don’t have any money, but I’m hungry.”
For a moment, I hesitated. The owner had made it clear: no handouts, no exceptions. But something in her voice — gentle, trembling, desperate — made the decision for me. I wrapped a fresh loaf, still warm from the oven, and handed it to her.
Before I could protest, she was gone.
