The small bell above my store door chimed as I returned to the front counter, arms full of restocked inventory. It had been a long day, and I was just about ready to close up, but something about how Olivia—the new cashier—was standing gave me pause. Her back was stiff, and I caught a glimpse of her slipping something into her bag.
My heart sank.
“Olivia?” I said gently, setting the boxes down. She jumped and turned toward me, eyes wide and face pale.
“I—I was just—”
I didn’t need an explanation. I had seen enough. Taking a steady breath, I stepped forward. “Can you open your bag, please?”
Tears formed in her eyes, but she didn’t resist. With trembling hands, she unzipped her worn purse and revealed two cans of baby formula and a small pack of diapers. My stomach turned—but not from anger. From sadness. From the clear, overwhelming desperation in front of me.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I have a one-year-old, and things have been really hard. My boyfriend… he doesn’t help at all.”
Her words hit me hard. The theft was difficult to see, yes—but what hit even harder was the fear and exhaustion in her voice.
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