“Sir… sir, can you buy my bike?”
Rocco turned.
Standing a few feet away was a little girl holding a rusted pink bicycle. Rain soaked through her thin jacket, and her shoes were torn at the edges. Her face looked pale, and her eyes carried a weariness no child should ever have.
Rocco frowned slightly.
“What are you doing out here alone?”
A Child Selling Her Last Treasure
The girl pushed the bicycle toward him with both hands.
“Please,” she said quietly. “Mommy hasn’t eaten in days. I can’t sell the house stuff, so I’m selling my bike.”
Something tightened in Rocco’s chest.
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