“Emily.” She swallowed hard. “Please. Jamie won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do.”
That last part cracked. Not just her voice—her composure. She was a child holding up a collapsing world.
“Emily, you’re going to stand right here by my bike,” I told her. “I’m going to get what you need. Don’t move, okay?”
She nodded fast and tried to push the bag of quarters into my hands.
I shook my head. “Keep it. You did your part. I’ve got this.”
Inside the store, I grabbed formula, bottles, water, and anything that didn’t require cooking—protein bars, crackers, fruit cups, whatever I could carry. The clerk watched me like I was about to rob the place.
“Has she been here before?” I asked, keeping my voice tight.
He hesitated, then nodded. “Past three nights. Different people each time. She tried to buy formula herself last night but… policy says we can’t sell to kids.”
I stared at him. “You turned away a child trying to buy baby formula?”
He stammered something about liability, about calling someone, about not knowing where she lived. Excuses stacked on top of each other like they could build a staircase out of responsibility.
I slapped cash on the counter and walked out.
Emily stood by my bike just like I told her, but she was swaying on her feet like she might tip over. Exhaustion does that to grown men, let alone kids.
“When did you last eat?” I asked.
She frowned like she was doing math that shouldn’t be her job. “Tuesday, I think. Maybe Monday. I gave Jamie the last crackers.”
It was Friday morning now. The numbers hit me like a punch.
I handed her the formula and bottles. “Where’s Jamie?”
She looked at the van, torn. “I’m not supposed to tell strangers.”
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