Before Evelyn could look away, a thin boy stepped forward. He was about twelve, Black, wearing sneakers with split soles and a hoodie far too big for him.
“Ma’am,” he said softly, eyes on the food, “can I have the leftovers?”
Evelyn nodded. “Take them. All of them.”
The boy hesitated, then surprised her. “I can do something for you,” he said. “In exchange.”
She smiled, tired but polite. “Sweetheart, I don’t need anything.”
He pointed at her legs. “I think you can walk again.”
The words landed harder than cruelty ever could. The café staff froze. Evelyn felt the familiar heat of humiliation rise in her chest.
“And how would you do that?” she asked, forcing calm.
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