I didn’t even realize my taillight was out. With two kids, a broken stroller, and rent unpaid, I was just trying to keep the car running long enough to get to the park. They needed fresh air; I needed a moment of peace. So when the police lights flashed behind me, I was startled — not speeding, not sure I even had enough gas to turn around.
The officer approached calmly. I kept both hands on the wheel, silent. My daughter fussed in the backseat, my son stared wide-eyed. The officer looked inside, saw the worn seats and tired faces, and quietly asked, “Is everything okay at home?” My heart clenched. “Yes, sir,” I replied, though the last word trembled. After a pause, he softly asked, “Are you sure?” I nodded, unsure what else to do. Then he said, “Would you mind if I helped?”
Before I could respond, he stepped back, made a radio call, and told me to follow him to the station. “Someone’s got something for you,” he said. Pride told me to turn away, but I followed.
In the parking lot, a woman about my age held a brand-new car seat, still wrapped in plastic. She smiled warmly and waved like she knew me. The officer introduced her as Jen, from a local support group for families facing hardships. “We see a lot of parents like you,” he said. I wanted to explain I wasn’t single — just struggling — but the words caught in my throat.
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