I was going about my usual grocery run when I noticed a small boy—maybe seven or eight years old—maneuvering a shopping cart that looked far too large for him. It was already about half filled, and he had to push with real effort just to keep it moving.
At first, I figured his parents were close by, maybe in a different aisle. But every time I rounded a new corner, I spotted him again—this time reaching for a box of pasta, then a bag of apples, then a gallon of milk. He clutched a crumpled shopping list, squinting at each item and diligently checking things off.
Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. I ambled closer and watched him struggle to lift a heavy sack of potatoes into the cart. It was clearly too big for him, yet he wouldn’t give up.
I decided to intervene. “Hey there, buddy,” I said. “Need any help?”
He jumped slightly, as if startled that someone was speaking to him, and gripped the cart tighter. “I’m fine,” he muttered.
I paused for a moment. “Where are your parents?”
He avoided looking at me. “They’re…at home.”
The way he said it sent a chill through my stomach. I glanced into his cart again—canned goods, bread, eggs, and other essentials that seemed designed to last a while. No fun treats or impulsive snacks. Just the basics. That was when it really hit me: he might be completely alone, doing the household shopping on his own.
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