Everything changed one afternoon in the building’s lobby.
Dorothy had dropped a grocery bag, and a few cans rolled across the floor.
Before she could even bend down, a tall man in a leather vest stepped forward and gathered them up.
He was hard to miss.
Broad shoulders.
Heavy boots.
Arms covered in tattoos that stretched from wrist to shoulder.
At first glance, he looked exactly like the kind of person many elderly residents had been taught to avoid.
But his voice was gentle.
“Careful there, ma’am,” he said with a warm smile.
His name was Michael.
He was visiting a friend in the building and had noticed Dorothy struggling with the groceries.
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